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A more Usual way of Being

October 10, 2016

Fear and guilt weigh me down

an increasing pressure squashing me to the ground

A happy feeling and sense of contentment

So strange to me: used to misery and resentment.

Waiting for the bubble to burst

for my life to be once more cursed.

Waiting for an excuse to fail

Any little sign, the tiniest detail

Then out of that molehill to build a mountain

so the anger and rage can flow freely like a fountain.

This is my generally accepted state

My more usual way of being

This is what I see as my fate

Always on edge, from goodness fleeing

Just as much as from badness

this is my interminable sadness.

The reason why I sit precariously here

writing this poem of woe and fear

Darkness engulfing, suffocating me from all sides

No nook or cranny in which to hide

On a thin precipice with a fall either way

I am perched, by the slightest wind to be swayed.

For once it would be nice to not be afraid

to be happy to find a place to rest and stay

Wait out the dark and the turbulence

with a new found strength and resilience.

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