Enough

The first time somebody called me strong,

I was sitting on that psychiatrist’s couch,

And I couldn’t contain the earthquakes in my body.

With a trembling voice I told her,

 

You’ve got it all wrong.

 

It’s not enough for the tree to stand,

after the lightning has desecrated it’s holy vessel;

It knows that mother nature has broken faith,

and it can never go on as before

when its maker has forsaken it.

 

I am a box full of every final puzzle piece

that is nowhere to be found.

You can’t complete me.

And if you took a walk in my head,

You wouldn’t find any benches.

There’s no place to rest.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say is;

I don’t know what I am,

But I know what I’m not.

 

I’m not strong,

But I’m here.

 

And do you know what she told me?

“That’s enough.”

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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