A hand grips my shoulder,
squeezes hard on the bone.
I don’t want to look over,
I have a hunch I might groan.
A feeling seeps into my skin,
finds its way to my soul;
I want to be free, I want to let go.
But this hand, this feeling prevents me,
it keeps its grip firm.
I think I know what it’s saying,
what it’s trying to warn.
It reminds me of something,
some event or dreaded task,
that looms above me,
waiting to snatch.


2 thoughts on “Stress

  1. Just wanted you to know that I enjoyed your poem.
    Somehow it encapsulates stress well.

    That is indeed most interesting, being the point is to get your feelings out,not necessarily within a few words”you dig?”

    Look forward to reading more of your poems.



  2. Thanks so much! I’m glad you feel it described stress well. I was really trying to personify it.
    And yes, that is the point–to talk about it, to somehow in some way get your feelings out. Whether it be talking, painting, writing, whatever rids your stress.
    I hope you enjoy my other writing!

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