On Shoulders

The weight of the world is on your shoulders?


On my shoulders

sits a fragile house of cards

strategically placed

threatening to fall

if the wrong move is made

my hands try to assist

while my legs buckle

breathing must remain steady

praying I’ll succeed

trying to hold it together

involuntary tears drop

as my gut turns and twists

the soles of my feet dig into the dirt

while the wind whips

startling the house

shaking the world

that sits atop the deck

Try carrying that

I’ll be glad to pass it off

for what you’re holding up


For more poetry and prose, check out The Good, The Bad & The Ugly: The Struggles of Being Bipolar


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