cry.

The pressure builds up inside, fighting

against the walls of my heart, mind and soul

that were meant to contain me.

The bursting bubbles take their time. 

They’re random, but at the same time dependent

Dormant until their existence is revealed to me. 

My inadequacy leaves me unable to look at it

with perspective thinking.  I am not the one, 

although I am the one with the issue. 

These bubbles.  Their nature is to be dependent.

Create their next step based on extraneous cues and direction.  

Why can’t I be more like those bubbles.  

The bubbles that are ruining my life.

And yet I’m comforted, knowing that it’s being ruined

somehow, considering the fact that

my life shouldn’t exist in the first place.

But rather Your life.

And once these bubbles end their life, the pressure is released.

Joy.

This is my cry.