on overthinking

sometimes they are just there.

like leaves falling, drifting from the trees –

never fully reaching the ground.

like bubbles that never pop

but sometimes they are not weightless and crispy,

but concrete, wind-knocking fists blown 

over and over and over again 

to your ribs and heart.

but then you cannot help but think

you deserve the purple and green and yellow

because you killed your dwindling happiness.

because you kept pulling the fraying threads of the only pure parts of yourself.

go ahead,

try to use a mirror and shine it on the person you blame.

“the whole world can see their guilt now”

try to use that same fraying thread and attach to the person walking away, watching the strings unravel from your own blue wrists

make them run away instead and carry the rocks of what you did with them.

but it isn't pebbles, but boulders you, and only you, have to carry because

you changed.

and you are not even yourself anymore.