Sometimes it's hard for me to understand why my life is the way it is.

Those days when I can't get up

not because I don't want to, but because

I can't.

The pressure

the pressure is too

much. Too much.

I think of words, of meanings.

Of poems.

Words that sing to you without a voice.

Words that wrap around you like your favorite childhood blanket,

or cut you like ice during a hailstorm.

Words that make me say I'm able to get up for another day.

Because I know that I'll see the words, I can get up.

I breathe 

the words.

I feel them in my heartbeat, beacause they speak to me. 

As do they to everyone.

Can I not be thankful enough?

I hold them.

I hold them. 

I hold them.