Like Drowning Sorrows in a Puddle

If I was to ask you,
“What is it you want from me;
what is it you expect me to be?”
I wonder what I’d hear from you.
Am I a trash heap for sorrows,
the already flaming dumpster
of self-inflicted woes or those
committed by others upon me?
What’d be the harm in tossing
a few more on the fire, right?
Or am I an ancient outcropping
of granite shoulder that will
support you and you and you
if you’re searching for a clear view
of this cloud-bound world?
Is it more tears than your own
you seek, mute nods of understanding,
even if I’m as numbed by this
shallow section of life as a puddle?
Or is it sorrowful, powerful words
that frame your worries in radiating
ripples built of nothing but 0’s and 1’s?
Perhaps you’re hoping for me to create,
with these countless lies I splash
into existence, tiny prisms,
each containing a view of a world
in all its squint-eyed beauty?
I’m tired now, barely capable of spitting
these droplets of words out here.
But you know I’ll do my best to be whoever you need.
If only someone would do the same for me.

One thought on “Like Drowning Sorrows in a Puddle

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