It feels as though I let you all down,
The grey cloud above the perfect town,
A caterpillar who won’t become a butterfly,
Silent nothings that haunt your battle cry.
Patches of frost on newly bloomed rose,
A tiny hole in your beautiful new clothes,
The ugly duck in a lake filled with swans,
Decaying rust that muddies antique bronze.
I can’t get better until I focus on my distress,
Whether it’s selfish or not I don’t want to regress,
My whole life has been spent as a carer,
Any self-care act brings on a system error.
Can I really begin to focus on my sorrow?
Will it help me uncover a new tomorrow?