take these mountains from my shoulders 

roll them down into boulders  


rub smooth these stones 

they crush my fragile bones   


take away the swirling sand  

this grinding grit I cannot stand  


turn it all into dust   

these things I leave in your trust. 


Fly, little bird, fly away 

take these rocks so far away   


these problems in your grip are so small I see  

yet they weigh so heavily down on me  


build your nest  

just like the rest 


on another's jagged side 

leave me here with my wounded pride  


I am the one you shouldn't trust

swaying with every single gust



 I fall. 


for I was never your Atlas  

after all. 








This poem is about: 
Our world


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