Image by brittywing from Pixabay
i give,
you take.
they take
and blame gravity.
i give,
but i don’t lose,
not yet.
it comes from a bucket
i don’t look into.
last time i did
there was less of me
than before
and i chose not to notice.
my hands bruise.
the handle bites.
i switch arms.
i tell myself
this is what strength looks like.
i keep pouring-
everything,
everything.
until the word is hollow
and echoes when i say it.
i give
because stopping would admit
there is a bottom,
and i have been standing
just past it.
teetering.
i used to count
to prove it was endless.
now i don’t
in case it isn’t.
so i give,
give.
i don’t check
what’s left.
