The weight of your head,
like the whole globe on your shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.

I’m tired, like all of the stress simply sits on my dreams

while I’m trying to sleep it away,
but I don’t get a break-
not even one day.

At least the bowl isn’t red anymore,
at least the sun is alight.
But I’ve ached for a year now, and it’s still so unclear how
I will heal, or if ever I will.

Keep sunny, keep yellow,
like the lilies in bloom
which sit on the drawers
at the end of my room.

The weight of my head,
like the whole globe on my shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.