Sometimes I feel too heavy.
I keep piling things into myself; thoughts, secrets, observations, until I think I might be close to bursting.

I’ve never burst.

Instead I just push them down further, try to compact them, make some room for new things to enter. But you can’t keep piling strings of secrets together without them getting tangled, and there’s so many knots inside me now that removing even just one thread will pull the rest of them along for the ride. I’ll be the clown at the carnival, pulling handkerchief tied to handkerchief out of my coat pocket, a smirk on my face."You didn’t think I could hold all of this inside of me did you?"

Well trust me,
I can.

PS: Thank you to Erin Hanson for sending me this. You can read more of her beautiful work here.