too often i hang around
the sword of damocles
hanging over the battleground
that is my mind.

beads of sweat forming on my skin
as i wonder if i’m doing this life thing right

too often i smile, and wave
pretending that everything is okay.

i’m worried that the overwhelming ugliness
from within will seep out somehow

the sadness
only a few people know; my family
some friends.

“keep fighting,” they say,
“you must know how to fight.”

too often i think,
“what if i’m tired of fighting?”

By Zoe Priscilla Davis