My Sticky Burden

Poetry and Prose

It’s all over my hands,

It’s even under my nails.

Nothing removes it,

everything fails.

I washed and I washed,

there’s no sign it’s budging.

Actually, it’s getting worse,

it’s definitely smudging.

It’s a strange problem to have,

and not many do.

Have a problem like this,

on not one hand but two.

I’m the first to admit,

I have egg on my face.

It’s definitely my fault,

for leaving the race.

It’s my burden to bear,

as this life demands.

To figure out what to do…

With too much time on my hands.


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