Sponges

We are sponges, you and I
Tiny holes, open pores
Swelling
Absorbing
Fear, stress, doubt, pain, grief
They hold firm
Locked in
Losing their grip only
When we’re able or ready
To wring them out
But how do we choose which ones
To be released
For even if a corner is squeezed
Happiness, contentment, peacefulness
May be the very ones that escape

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