Ninety-Nine bottles lined up on the wall,

each of them filled to the brim.

My worries and cares and my fears and shortcomings,

all packed up and stored within.

One bottle says “haircut”. It’s simple as that.

it’s trivial, yes. I know.

But even the little things are kept to myself.

And I try not to let them show.

One bottle says “friendship”. It’s chipped and it’s scratched

from the times it has tried to explode.

Because no matter how hard I try to control it,

it always seems ready to blow.

One bottle says “family”, it’s joined by many

with each family member’s name.

Because all my relationships struggle to live,

and threaten to burst under strain.

One bottle says “face”. It’s cork is missing.

I dont even bother to hide it.

Because every night, the tears still come,

no matter how hard I fight it.

One bottle says “body”, it’s rather apparent

from all the punctures and holes,

that this bottle bursts so frequently

because this problem, I cannot hold.

There’s a bottle for “future” and a bottle for “money”

a bottle for “college” and “fate”.

A bottle for “faults” and a bottle for “fears”.

But these bottles are about to break.

But the bottle that I always fear the most,

out of all that sit on the wall,

is the bottle that’s labeled, “Being Loved”

because I doubt it will happen at all.

Each time I uncork one and try to sift through

the contents that mingle inside,

It’s a terrible battle with tears and with pain

that I am forced to fight.

But if left unattended, the bottle will shatter,

leaving small splinters of glass.

So instead I try to face my fears,

saving the hardest for last.

Each night as I try to fall asleep,

I’ll choose a new bottle to check.

That explains why each morning I wake up and find

A tear-stained pillow on my bed.

But there’s no other way to handle my fears,

no way else to fight my doubts.

So my ninety-nine bottles stay up on the walls,

and I try to figure them out.