Today my dear you must rest.
Halt your endless march on
making everything just so.
Let your ship run aground.
Let the jungle brush it green.
See what mystery boards.
You have been keeping planes in the air,
lending your heart to every disadvantage,
planning the ends of every start,
holding, holding,
lest everything fall apart.
Giving more than you’ll ever let in.
Weighing each encounter.
It’s exhausting staying ahead and
keeping the benches clean.
You need to know, it’s not what you do
that makes you necessary.
You’re holding up walls
that were made to fall,
to end their days in the soil,
so you can grow beyond the picturesque rubble
of your childhood ruins.
Dear one,
there is nothing
to do.

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