walking a line

I feel that every single day,
I walk a tightrope—feel it sway—
the line is slack, the wind is strong
and I must never step it wrong
for if I fell (oh, awful thought)
my life would simply fall apart—
I juggle school and work and keep
my family fed, and even sleep . . .

my homework’s long, my time is short,
but still, I write expense reports,
and in between that awful chore,
I sweep and mop the bathroom floor—
I want to pause and read my book,
or picnic by a bubbling brook,
or dance until my muscles ache
or eat a piece of chocolate cake—
but much too many duties loom
to give my simple pleasures room . . .

I cannot lose—I cannot win,
and so, I spin, and spin, and spin.

line count: 20