I’m trying to be better about reaching out,
to be more intentional with my words,
but oh, how I fail miserably.
There is never enough time
for every person I love
and for every person who loves me.
I wrestle with being able to give enough of myself,
but at the same time,
I’m trying to save some of myself just for me.
Oh, what a predicament!
One day, I will be done trying;
my body will at last wear out,
and I’ll be lost to the wind,
scattered on some sorrowful breeze,
on some unexpected lonesome day.
Will I have done enough?
Maybe it won’t matter
because maybe in the grand scheme of things,
I am just me — a tiny particle of dust
who doesn’t stand a chance
of making any difference at all.

© 2025 Michelle Cook

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