The Weight:

She struggled with things like never having enough hair to pull out or a knife that was always to damn dull,  a weakness as even the weight of want pulling at her surely there had to be more,
  Thoughts and fuzzy opinions like shards of glass only slipping from her fingers bleeding seemed so much easier,
The weight held onto her to say it's only just an illustration on paper a map of
mere words and roads never seeming to go the places we'd seen in pictures or even in our minds,
  As we walked I could not share no answers, Nor questions did I ask,
Frantically searching for a key to unlock the mysteries of paper airplanes and where in the world was the wind going anyhow,
The weight of never knowing her destination or if it even mattered,
I'd often find myself trying to pick up sticks dropping them into the same old cup judging the outcome of the plunking in the end,
As she held on the weight pulling her away again and again,

Dark Poet
August 17,  2015