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Ashleigh Smith
The Labor of Existing Here
It’s been one of those days,
the kind I've had entirely too many of.
When I don't want to die necessarily,
but living this existence isn't a torch
I want to carry.
I've had just about
enough.
Dingy cellblock walls.
I can smell the cheap metals of the beds and desks
even in my dreams.
Aggression and hate about to drown
me in their wave. I'm not trying to give
up on life's experiment, but this is
8,000 something Groundhog Days.
My shoulders feel so bowed and heavy
I'm doubled up on years lived versus
life contained. My end is in sight
but I can only get there
if I can withstand the weight of each day
living
inside of here.