When people feel depressed
sometimes they get suicidal,
Clinging onto the ledges of emotion
by their finger tips,
No effort is required for release,
Just a summoning of courage,
A deep breath,
And if need be,
A shutting of the eyes,
Then closure.
I am at the opposite end of that spectrum.
My legs are numb
but I am too tired in my mind to feel this exhaustion,
And although I am standing
I long to sit and rest,
But I cannot.
I am positioned at the bottom of a steep hill,
It surrounds me entirely,
It is a place where gravity is my foe,
And I am looking up to see a deep mattress layer,
All around there is a slope,
A slope that I must travel up.
Even if I had the will power,
Or the gusto,
I would still never be able to climb this slope,
The effort needed is too great,
And though I would always try hard
the mechanics are beyond me,
My legs don the weight of so many things right now,
I am just not built the ideal way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem