I am a box filled with the endless supply of worn-out troubles and old dilemmas. Sometimes it feels like my sides are going to rip, the weight of worries getting too big, but after some time and some tape, I’m sure I won’t break. I keep filling myself up because I’m helping others. They’re in pain, they feel alone, here comes another. Taking their problems like I am strong, but after a while, all I can think is “Something is wrong”. If I’m consoling all these people then I should feel great, but all this helping is taking up some space. What will happen if my load gets too heavy? I can’t just say “Sorry, I’ve got plenty” What type of box would that make me? If I can’t be the sorrow keeper I was meant to be. The keeper of the tears, here for others' use. So used I will be,to help and heal the broken despite the fact it’s destroying me.
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