Unburdening

Some days
it's all I can do
to lift my head.

Not from sleep–
or lack therefore–
but from the gravity
of things unsaid. 

Every thought
loops like static, 
echoing inside me.

A fear of being known. 
A fear of being unknown. 
Contradictions. 

There's no single thing
I'm running from,
only too many things
I can't outrun. 

And rest 
isn't sleep. 
It's silence.
It's stillness.
It's not being asked
To carry
one more thing. 

(But what waits, 
what lingers, 
what must be set down
somewhere?)