When I was young I thought I'd lean in
And help everyone I saw.
I'd take on troubles and burdens and
Cares like a postman scooping up today's
Mail from a big blue letterbox.

But I found the metal singes my fingers and forearms
And the envelopes leave paper cuts.
My blood drops in crimson drips
On the letterhead you carefully crafted.
The stamps unstick and amble, impotent,
Down the sidewalk,
Blown away from me
On the slightest breeze.

It took me too long to learn--
Other people's troubles are their own
To pass along.