What I Am, What I Need

     Sometimes days stretch on endlessly.

The kind of endless that sinks into the bones.

That rests heavily on the muscle.

And pulls at the skin.

It's a deep-seated discomfort.

    As a child, I wrestled with this heaviness often,

as an adult, I wrestle with this feeling often.

You would think

with such a vast head start

on coping 

with heaviness

I'd be miles ahead of understanding it.

You'd think I'd be at grips with the way my soul droops.

    Yet instead,

I sit here 

with lids peeled back

wide-eyed and aghast.

How could the weight on my shoulders

ever compare 

To each atrocity 

whizzing across my screen?

The world has never felt so connected,

yet so damn isolating.

    The need for comparison,

where does it stem from?

I wonder.

Maybe when the big feelings

were too big

I was asked to be small

compact

not life-sized.

    What problems could a child possibly have?

When I am confronted,

by the tears of a crying child

my heart stutters.

I see the child in me,

who only ever wanted to be held

And comforted

But instead

was forced into a box.

    "What a good girl."

        "She's so quiet."

            "She's dealing with this so well."

My heart leaps from my chest. 

I settle beside that child.

I sit quietly.

I let that child feel all those big feelings.

I become what was said of me

And still more

I am who I always needed.