for awhile

i read my horoscope for this week, which said that i
hold on tight to things and never ever stop
for good or for bad.

‘maybe for awhile, stop’, it suggested.
i wanted to send a lengthy letter in return to the writer
and say
‘i’ve tried’
and i have, but everything i hold onto crumbles.
my hands clench so tightly that they turn white,
and whatever i’m holding onto has no choice but to
disappear

even if they don’t want to be caught

i can only look on in horror, as if those aren’t my hands,
and it isn’t my decision to crush fragile things.
i only know how to give things my utmost attention
for good or for bad, indeed.

in order to be good, i must be solid
i must be present and loyal
but i’ve mistaken goodness for something else,
something that drowns me.

another week, and my horoscope tells me that i’m
worshipful of the past,
and yet i forget it
which seems impossible to do.

but as another venture, another love, another day
turns into ashen dust between my fingers,
i remember why try to keep my hands to myself.