Frustrated · The Art of Poetry

Frustrated

I wake with a storm I can’t outrun,

A race in my chest that’s never done.

Thoughts like gravel in worn out shoes,

Every step hurts, every step bruised.

I talk to the walls, they nod and stare,

Full of answers that aren’t quite there.

I try to breathe, but the air feels tight,

Like daylight arguing with the night.

I’ve stacked my patience neat and tall,

But one more whisper makes it fall.

Every “almost,” every “not yet,”

Is a loan from hope I can’t repay the debt.

I’m tired of circles, tired of plans,

Tired of shaking empty hands.

Tired of being strong on cue,

When strength feels borrowed, bent, and used.

But somewhere under the clenched jaw,

Under the anger, under the flaw,

There’s a spark that refuses to quit,

Still whispering, you’re not done with this.

So let me break, let me feel the strain,

Let me curse the slow burning pain.

I’ll stand back up no pretty speech.

Frustrated, yes…

but still within reach.

By Jason Strickland

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