Everything I hate
Seems attached to a swing.
The harder I push it away,
The stronger it returns.

I can't dodge it.
The concrete of pessimism
Locks my feet to the ground.
I convince myself it's altruism;

I can take the hit so others don't.
But the truth is there's no one else around
Apart from shadows in my peripheries.
No point making a sound;

Nothing but empty ears
And park benches to hear me.
Just the creak of the swing
To keep me company.

My audience of metal bars
Is hard to please.
Nothing but steeliness and could shoulders.
Maybe I could take the time to breathe

And enjoy the fresh air.
But seesaws
And spider's webs look too much
Like parts of a jigsaw.

Perhaps I'll get out one day.
Not without a depression of
Some shoe prints of absentee
Self-love scarring the floor.

I'd visit the spot
And count my blessings.
Treasure it in my heart
As a valuable lesson.