Blisters of water redden this palm,
Dug deep to hold the scattered pieces.
Not lost by my own hand on this plate.
We all carry it, this weight we need,
Yet everything upon this plate scatters.
Splashes to the floor, fragments of despair.
Uncollectible,
Tears drawn from anger, not from the heart,
Self-esteem lies broken beneath my feet,
Trampled over and over again.
Cognitive slumber drapes my dignity,
Struggling to rise from this soft heart,
Wrestled by revenge, while self-pity bows
To sympathy, crafting a new platform.
Weakness whispers, urging me to take control.
Revenge grins, and sympathy trips it,
Dignity climbs, using compassion as it's crutch,
So fragile, yet it must stand firm for the Self,
The Self that's lost still yearns for peace.
Sleep feels natural, a forced artifact,
Merged with this weary soul.
Stuffed into the ground, it doesn't weigh me,
Just the weak who slumbers,
For I am strong.
YOU ARE READING
Mind games
Poetry"Having high expectations and subsequently experiencing disappointment."
