Just weight

I like those weights
    the metal ones I pump,
    that make me feel good,
    that make me stronger,
    the last rep that I can barely lift
    (and since I have no spotters
    I must take care),
    that feel so good when I’m done.

But some days, I’m crushed by weights….

…the weight of expectations 
    (mine or someone else’s)

…the weight of all those feather-light papers
    piled up on surfaces,
    all needing to be sorted, filed, tossed,
    dealt with by a mind tired of dealing

…the weight of a night-dark day at noon,
   rain bucketing from the sky
   onto already soaked surfaces,
   returning to the hot air
   only more stickiness

…the weight of waiting to sell a house
   that I live in alone
   in a pristine existence that’s not real,
   keeping up the perfection,
   trying to remember where I put the things I need
   for the minutia of daily living

…the weight of being the person always helping,
   never needing help,
   the tiredness of always lifting someone else
   up from where they’ve fallen,
   sometimes feeling I have the imprint of shoe tread
   on my face
   from being pushed down, forgotten

…the weight of knowing that no matter what is crushing me,
   so many have it worse,
   that when I wake tomorrow,
   my optimism will be back,
   papers will be filed, tossed and sorted,
   the sun shining,
   the house clean,
   people lifted from the muck 
   the expectations met 
…the muscles a bit stronger.

Just wait.

(On a more mundane, less poetic level, I might add the almost unbearable annoyance of WordPress making it as difficult as possible to
format a poem and additionally, to only eke out that formatting on a dark background.)