Gara’s Weblog

Because I have been bruised
by time and disappointment
I think I’m unworthy of happiness,
and I indulgently roll around in the mud of my failure.

I don’t think it’s skepticism anymore.
I just seem to prefer
to carry a burden around,
to hardly be able to catch my breath
after I carry the weight
of all of you on me
up to the top of that endless slope.

This weight hurts,
and its hurting is the definite sign,
the only credible sign,
of my being alive.

I collect heavy bundles
that I like to add on to my baggage
until the strap which holds it all together
is finally torn,
never to be repaired.