A Whimper of Pain
A cry of loss
Will you think me weak if I ask for help?
I am not sleeping.
I cry at traffic lights,
my hands firmly gripping the wheel
at 10 and 2.
But that's all
that I can grip.
Everything else is
swept away in the fog
and creeping numb that sweeps through me.
Am I losing my grip on life?
Is this... that?
~
I... don't... think... so.
I can still feel,
so that must be life.
Still.
~
The help I would give others
remains wrapped in thick sandpaper for me.
My fingers ache from the effort of unwrapping it.
Scraped and raw- I am exhausted.
My head.
My eyes.
My breathing seems like such a huge effort for
such poor reasons.
Is it worth it?
Am I worth it?
~
Will you think me weak if i ask for help?
~
Do you
think of me
at all?
~
About the Creator
Judey Kalchik
It's my time to find and use my voice.
Poetry, short stories, memories, and a lot of things I think and wish I'd known a long time ago.
You can also find me on Medium
And please follow me on Threads, too!
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