This isn't about feet (Poem)

 I carry grief with me like a ball and chain 
I just keep dragging it along
I’ve been a prisoner of war for as long as I can remember
It hits at random times, when I realize my ankle has been rubbed raw
It’s exhausting to cry at 7:40 in the morning 
Or at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon
Some days are better than others 
I’m able to go to school, and work and play Euchre with friends
I’m able to write 8-page papers and drive to coffee shops 
I don’t feel the weight that is tying me down
I don’t feel the skin around my ankle that has been cut because I keep forcing it along
I think if I keep going, the chain will hit my bone
If I keep pushing through and don’t let myself break
It’ll go right through, and I’ll finally be free
I’ll lose a part of me and become an amputee
But my foot kept me stable, and it held me up 
I should have just let it heal instead of cauterizing the wound