Rocks
I have a rock. Well, it started as a rock, but grew
to be a boulder. A rock that grew to be a boulder
that I took with me everywhere. My rock that grew
to be a boulder sleeps with me, eats with me.
I take my hunk everywhere and sometimes I see
other people with their boulders, too. Carrying
the weight of their own world like Atlas.
I can push and pull but some days I can't
move my boulder. Some days it is a mountain
and on those days I wish nobody had to see me.
But I cannot wallow within my world. Some people
with mountains let themselves be consumed.
It starts slowly. A finger will harden or a toe.
But I will never let myself be the mountain,
even if it might be the path of least resistance.
I will continue to pull my mountain inch by inch.
