welcome to drama practice

[the_irreverend]

This is my first poem in quite a while. I have mixed feelings about it...

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Weary

There's a feeling I call "tuckered":
Satisfied
happily exhausted
a day well lived and hard work loved
An "I-lay-me-down-with-a-will" feeling.
Tuckered.

This is not that.

This weariness is not touched by sleep or the usual rest.
This is from carrying unfamiliar burdens:
Tears uncried
Anger gagged
Trust betrayed
Faith broken
Love confused
and from not knowing when they'll be lifted,
if they'll be lifted.

These burdens are still fresh,
like hand-me-down shoes the wrong size,
equally unwelcome, unrefusable, and unreturnable.
On my uncalloused flesh
The blisters they wear will break soon,
will weep and bleed and scab and probably heal.
In the meantime, I limp along,
disillusioned and weary.

Given time,
and persistence,
these burdens and I will break each other in.
As for which of us will be more broken
only time will tell.

(c) 2007

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Time to go cuddle the cats...