do I not wilt in this pressure?
sometimes it grows too heavy,
the world spins, and I let it to;
let go of it, says a voice inside,
and echoes in voices around me –
don’t start a storm in a teacup;
it doesn’t really matter to you;
yes, a part of that rings true,
but how can I not let clouds,
dark, ominous, of acidic words,
pour their drops over my soul;
for they were sent only my way,
to gnaw at every whole piece,
to take away every bit of peace.
I have been silent, and it shows,
for this, that storm too knows,
and breaks my heaven so slow.
oh, my mind wilts in this heat,
and I’m stuck, nowhere to go.
(© 8th June 2015)