Poems

Carry On


So this is me?
This worried frown and wrapping paper.
This pacing fret and twisted finger.
This voice on the line leaning on your tonal lift.

This, this is me?

There is untapped shame hitting my rib-cage
as I acknowledge my lost position.
Somehow, despite best effort,
I failed to plan for Sunrise
to follow sunset.

This, this is me?

What about this potential
that has forgotten its place
but still shows up?

What about this dream,
small and simple,
not yet fully ripened
but still dreamt.

This, this is me?

Can’t be.

I have too much mind for mindless.
I have too much hope for hopeless.
I have too many lists for listless.

damned if I will.

Let’s carry on, shall we?
Cause this. This is not me.

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