Show Up To Her

Sharon Ann Rose 11/2019

​I’m putting pressure on myself.
The kind of pressure that holds you down. And holds you back.
Keeps defining your future steps in a certain way.
 
The kind of pressure that quakes in the face of death.
And runs hiding from the face of life.
You know… THAT kind of pressure.
 
And my chest burns with its impact.
Feeling all the well-intentioned and well-meaning selective actions I’ve taken.
Measured. Thought out. Like a cinched waistline that doesn’t want to reveal any curves.

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