Continuing along the theme of how I'm way tired of how I guard/hoard most of what I write and think-
here is the first draft of a poem I wrote today...
That dark weight I felt in my chest
I looked to see
a black rock, like coal-
but more dense, like obsidian-
Made of all the roses
I hadn't given away
I kept them, not for myself
Not for you.
I kept them because
they weren't good enough.
I didn't know if you'd want them anyway-
So I held them in,
My heart wrapped tightly around them,
Closed in on its self,
That hand that should've been giving
instead was clenching,
holding on for dear life,
but crushing any chance of it.
But I breathed the other day,
like I haven't breathed in so long-
This time I'm giving it all away.
Thank you for being out there.