I don’t want to do it anymore.

Up against the rock wall

of good people with long résumés

waiting for it to crumble

only to remember King’s:

“to carve a tunnel of hope

through a mountain of despair.”

Conversations that are not too light

and not too heavy

hiding the darkness others do not want to see

just enough guile to walk among the status quo

but not enough truth for meaning.

Am I expecting others to do

what I could not?

This is where the rubber hits my road

built on books.

Famous athletes come out with depression

what’s the point of coming out

without a good reputation?

What’s the point of living

without coming out?

I won’t crush the bruised reed:

will not write you off because

our conversations were weightless.

But now the road has been paved

for others to walk on.