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In My Well

Is this what I'm suppose to do?

Should I know by now,

after seemingly blank stares

and many furrowed brows?

I think this could be it,

Your rope inside my well,

but will it bare my weight?

It's still so hard to tell.

I tug it kind of gently,

and then with all my might.

I climb about a foot,

my feet together tight.

I don't know why I doubt.

My circle sky is blue.

Yet, something doesn't feel right.

I let go, and you're confused.

I sink back in my well.

My head between my knees.

You say, "I can't be helped,"

and you turn your back to leave.

I'm tempted to scream out,

and beg for you to stay,

but how can I keep you here

without doing what you say?

I'm twiddling my thumbs,

but the quiet has a peace.

Still, I wonder, was it dumb

to trust my own beliefs?

Until, I take a breath,

and another rope falls down,

one that doesn't hurt my hands,

or fill my heart with doubt.

Then, before I know it

I'm higher than the clouds,

and I think I've made a friend,

who will truly stick around.

Everything takes time,

and I'm glad I didn't settle,

or risk my precious life,

on a rope that's much to brittle.

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