My Heavy Cup
I carry a cup. A sloshing and spilling cup.
My cup weighs heavy in my hands, weighing down on my soul.
My cup never runs dry, always baring its dark and thick contents.
I try to put my cup down, but I only manage to fill it more.
Others carry cups, some full, others near empty.
They ask to share, to carry the weight of my heavy cup.
They could not carry my cup, as it is mine to bare.
I turn them away, and pour more into my cup.
I imagine what it would be like to empty my cup.
To throw it away, and be done with it.
But it would only fill the cups of those around me.
Because to empty one cup is to fill another.
So, I carry my heavy cup.
I fill it, and fill it, and add to it from the cups of others.
Slowly I drown in my cup.
But that is the price I pay to bare my cup.
My Heavy Cup.