Holding your head up is such hard work
Especially when you've got the world
on your shoulders.
I have the world on my shoulders,
everyone's and my own,
I don't remember putting it there
But it's grown to be to big for me,
and I cannot not stand tall
and hold my head up anymore.
I can feel the strain seep into my bones
and they creak and crack
just to move me along
Everyday I get a little weaker
And every night my sorrows seep deeper,
And my sleep finds insomnia
and my eyes find euphoria in words
that I write to stave off the strife
that keeps my head heavy
and broken heart heavier.
It is hard to hold your head up high,
The spine was not made for the weight
of my overflowing mind,
filled with all the wreckage
the world has left behind.
I'm tired, I cannot afford this type of life,
if I don't find a way,
this hurt will find a way to break my spine,
and then holding my head up will be impossible,
the odds of recovering will be improbable,
I'll sink into the waves of inexhaustible trouble.
Maybe then I'll claim the defeat as mine.
My soul is tired tonight. Is yours?
Am I the only one that feels the scars?
I don't think I can bleed anymore than
I have already.
But yet more seems to drip from my pores,
The blood is black this time,
Ink is what I bleed,
I have no more of my own blood to shed.
And the world is pouring enough as it is.
I bleed in words, I sweat words, I cry them too.
Blood, sweat, and tears.
This is the new currency of pain for the years.
I don't have anything to give.
I'm a poor soul will even poorer intents.
But I have words.
I have enough to fix paths that are bent.
I have enough to fill oceans unspent.
I have have syllables and letters for them,
The broken and needy and utterly penitent.
But in all this sharing of words with the world, my head has not gotten lighter to hold.
I suppose that is because
I have to hold the world,
everyone's and my own,
in order to write it all down.
I don't know which I prefer,
but I certainly know which is easier.
SK
