Much of what is inside me is put there by me.
I take the hose and fill me up
until I am inflated like a zeppelin,
only I do not leave the ground,
weighed down by burdens
I do not have to bear and ropes too numerous to name.
There is no flight with this fuel only the inevitable explosion and I go down like the Hindenburg.
The clouds await when I am ready to release,
but this letting go,
of unrealistic expectations,
is a difficult thing,
made even more so by the stressors of everyday life.
I put the hose back in the gas pump and walk across the lot to the store to pay.
Inside on the radio they’re playing “Under Pressure” by David Bowie.