i used to think
it was big enough
for me,
that i could fit
just what i have,
which is really all i need.

frequently, i find
my cup half-full
when i wake up,
but it’s like tar
and i can’t pour it out
quite fast enough.

then they came
to pour and pour
their whole mess into me
until it all flows over –
just more for me to clean.

and when the crisis settles,
it’s filled beyond the brim,
but somehow they won’t stop trying
to squeeze a few drops in.

some days,
it’s clean and full,
so i might offer you a sip,
but then you drain it all,
leaving not a drop to drip
upon my thirsty tongue
or weary soul
until i slowly slip
through the giant hole
in my tiny cup
that you will never
fill back up.