Sometimes my brain feels like a five pound bag
Filled with ten pounds of shit,
Too much stuff I don’t know what to do with
Building up until I feel the pressure
Ready to blow, like those cartoons,
A head letting loose like a steam whistle.
I remember times in by-gone days
I’ve had to stop and be still.
I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, barely breathed
Until things calmed down.
After a while
I’d open an eye just a little
To see if it was safe
To start letting things in again.
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