Bursting at the Seams

I climb the beam, feeling the

skin of my toes brush against the wood

of the beam,

the beams of the sun hitting me

on my back shoulders

forehead bridge of my nose right down to my

very tippy-toes. If I walk the plank

can I jump into the sea, or can I find salvation

when my body skims the shank

of a shark? I am but a

drop in the ocean change in the weather the softest

hue of grey in an over-bearing thundercloud.

when the rain comes it pours down my face;

anguish cheats its way across the gradual

ascension of an emotional roller-coaster,

splitting my face in two already, so that

I am a crumpled paper-bag.

when the rain comes my face is

marred by a frown and the disease of

losing myself,

though I am so full I am so empty,

bursting at the seams,

walking along those beams.

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