May 21
I never felt
my baggage was as heavy
as heavy as you made it be.
You put it on a weighing scale
and said,
“Look. Look.
It’s heavy.”
I looked.
I looked.
And now it is.
I was hoping
we would share the load,
for I was ready
to hold yours too.
But you made additions
while I made divisions.
You bought a car.
While I bought a home.
How do I let go?
How do I carry this again?
Do I wait for you blindly
under the night sky?
Do I diffuse into life
during the day?
Should I let go?
It’s been a while.
Will this lessen if you leave?
Somehow, it only keeps adding.
And now my baggage
sinks
me
to the ground.
-A
