Poem: What Is Draining Me

It’s not the clock, though it ticks so loud,
Nor the weight of days beneath a cloud.
It’s not the work, though endless it seems,
Nor restless nights and fractured dreams.

It’s the silence when I need a word,
The unheard voice that should be heard.
It’s showing up with heart and care,
And finding no one truly there.

It’s masking pain with quiet grace,
Holding calm in a chaotic place.
It’s the smiles that cost a piece of soul,
And kindness paid in full, yet stole.

It’s knowing more but speaking less,
It’s giving peace, receiving stress.
It’s tending fires that don’t give heat,
And building bridges no one meets.

It’s not one blow, but countless small—
The subtle ways I start to fall.
The drip, drip, drip of energy,
That steals the breath and buries me.

So what is draining me, you ask?
It’s wearing joy as daily mask.
It’s being strong, alone, unseen—
A quiet war, where I’ve not been mean.

But still I fight, and still I stay,
Hoping light will find its way.
Yet naming this, perhaps you see—
The first small crack that sets me free.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie