Weight

At what point does one admit
That they are the things that they do
The things that no one sees
The words that nobody hears

I am the words I write
I am the songs I sing in the car
I am the curses I mumble
I am the dreams in my sleep

I am a childless father
Married to a beautiful mother
That simply lacks an infant
In a home with empty rooms

But there are flowers in my front yard
Flowers that I admire
Flowers cut and put in vases
Flowers that support the weight

Of butterflys and hummingbirds