Atlas

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

 

trembling,

 I fall. 

 

for I was never your Atlas  

after all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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