I MEASURE EVERY GRIEF I MEET

by Emily Dickinson.

I measure every grief I meet

With analytic eyes;

I wonder if it weighs like mine,

Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,

Or did it just begin?

I could not tell the date of mine,

It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,

And if they have to try,

And whether, could they choose between,

They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled--

Some thousands--on the cause

Of early hurt, if such a lapse

Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still

Through centuries above,

Enlightened to a larger pain

By contrast with the love.

You are the Funeral

I am the blood

I am the knife

I am the life that runs through your veins.

I am the pulse

I am the beat

I am what keeps you on your feet.

I am the razor

I am the pain

I am what keeps everything the same,

The reason you cannot change.

I am why you won’t let go,

Why your pain will always show and this wound will never heal.

I am the rise

I am the fall

I am the cause of this all.

I am the needle

I am the drug

I am the decision to never love;

The lack of confidence to move on.

I am the air in your lungs

The weakness in your mind

I am why you are unstable.

I am the hate

I am the sadness