*I found this poem in a journal from July 8, 2019. I remember this summer — all of the loneliness I felt and all of the macaroni I ate. Enjoy, if you’d like.*
I watch the marigolds bloom and die;
I smell the woods falling prey to fire;
I feel the weight of the atmosphere crushing us to the Earth.
The world keeps turning;
people keep running;
and I keep waiting.
I’m waiting for the day I can straighten my back,
heave the weight up and over my head
and breathe.
I’ve spent so long gasping for air
only to feel it taken away from me.
I carry this burden so someone else doesn’t have to.
I am your Atlas.
Let me shoulder your pain.
So It Goes 