I heard it was beautiful out today.
I didn’t notice.
I spent hours laying in bed,
picking at my wounds.

It’s ironic that my pool of tears
is the only kind I spend time swimming in.
It’s ironic that I can damn near drown,
but still feel like I’m safe.

I took the time to place my problems
on an imaginary table,
in the hopes of sorting out which ones would go away first.

I quickly saw that there was nothing I could do for any of them.
I noticed that they all had something in common:
Each one was out of my control.

Poet: Stefanie Parrott 


3 thoughts on “Control

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