Heavy
They say, "You carry too much."
But they don't see the weight of the world pressed into my bones.
Anxiety clenches its fists in my stomach,
whispers like static in my ears,
telling me every wrong step,
every almost-mistake,
every crack in the mirror is my fault.
Depression drapes itself over my shoulders,
a coat too heavy to take off,
sewn from every night I stayed silent,
every morning I wished I could disappear.
And I laugh.
Because how do I explain that the heaviest thing I carry
is the expectation to be light?
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