A Plank

The feeling in my heart

Is not a deep pit of black.

Not an empty unknowing

With feeling to lack

But rather, an unsteady tipping of a plank

That’s supposed to stand strong

As to highly rank.

But the tipping is unsettling,

Mostly because it’s unknown.

Is this tipping just what happens

Once you are grown?

If it is, ‘grown’ is something

I wish not to be.

If my youth means the plank

Will be left thoughtfully.

Let it sit, thoughts unknowing.

And feelings to lack.

Let it cover the threat,

Of the deep pit of black.