EXPECTATIONS

Sometimes I feel the hand of life’s pressures

Pushing me ever deeper into the gorged mouth

Of the hungry world

I splash and struggle in a bubbling whirlpool

Of guilt when I fail to  what is expected of me

When I fail to complete.

Drowning, choking, grasping

At straws of anger, at strands of confusion

Heavy arms, aching shoulders

Until, finally, I reach dry land again.

Calm, safe,

And back to square one.

I stand alone then, unsteady,

As if on a moving bus

And I hope behind closed eyes

That the only available seat

Isn’t next to the nutcase

Reviews

[roarke]

wanna take bets on the seat thing? I followed this prose all the way through, no ambiguity, all straight to the punch.
Nice writing.