Don’t you look at those magazine checklists and think – if only it were that simple…
All this confusion is, well, confusing me
I can’t tell anymore: Am I anxious?
Depressed? Angry? Sorrowful? Distracted?
It rises within me, whatever it is
and will not accept a greeting
Hello darkness, I mean, grief, um, you are?
It ignores my hints as I search for just
the right name for this pain and discomfort
If only I can name it, I just know
we could come to terms, be at peace again
A suitable checklist could then be found
I would follow all its suggested steps
The harried night would fall away to black
bangs brushed gently back from a furrowed brow.
