Placing it upon the table.

My heart is full of pressure
that I cannot relieve
from where it’s at.
I must remove it
let it decompress
not to long
I wouldn’t want it to dry out.

Placing it upon the table
it’s smaller than I thought
fragile and delicate
I must not break it.
DROP.
Shit,
I grab it
several apologies slip.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I think I angered it.

On the floor it looks weak.
I think of grabbing it
although I’ve suffered through
sheltering it.
I’ll just let it suffer,
let it be angry.
For once I won’t
share in its pain.
Although my brain
is yelling at me
it always wants to be the boss.
A middle finger
towards my forehead.

Your next,
I tap my finger
upon my head.
Stay quiet
as I speak.
My finger slips
out of my control
my mouth opens,
ouch!
Not you to mouth.
Your next boss,
I swear your next.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina