should I carry it with me,
this thing in my chest?
It bears me down
makes me bleak,
it lifts me up,
and i savor being weightless
It's empty sometimes,
though I know it's there.
To light to touch for it to flake and fly
It's soft and too tender,
its hard and about to crack,
It's timid when I want it strong,
too tough when I need to burst into weakness,
a bubble too stubborn to choose.
But I think I'll keep it around.
All in all, its an amazing thing,
that works without tire,
that leaves no trace of regret for its blunder,
that gives without need,
that needs without asking,
that is open and widens still,
that grows more with giving,
though weight drags,
heavier still is absence.
This is what I give to you