i'm getting depressed
keeping it bottled
the pressure is mounting
i need to write
want to write but
now i need to write
i can feel it
but i can't do it
can't make myself do it
i'm working so hard
so exhausted
feels like i never have the time
or the energy
to sit down
to express
and compose
i write my poems in my head now
staring into the bathroom mirror
in the mornings
as i'm getting ready for work
i dictate them into a phone
it's all i can do
i wrote this very poem that way
just this morning
staring into my sleep-ugly face
because i don't have the time
to take the time
to write
to craft
to sculpt and shape my perception
into anything resembling art
i'm left only the option to
regurgitate words onto page
clean up the mess
and get back to work

but it's more than that
it goes much deeper
i don't like what i'm feeling right now
and i don't want to say it out loud
wish i didn't have to
saying it out loud is how to make it all better
i know that
the care-free grace of the newly-confessed
but there's this wall of fear
between me and salvation
and i don't think i have the strength
to climb it
because it's one thing to confront your demons
i do that every day
it's another to do it
out loud
in public
for all the world to see
dancing naked and crazed in the center of town
covered in your own ***** and ****
while your family gathers around
and stares
and you say, "See, Dad?
I'm doin' just fine.
Just working a few things out."

i have no ending for this poem

it hasn't been written yet