The Weight Of Enough
I look at my life like it doesn’t belong,
Like I’m just a thief in a story gone wrong.
These hands hold too much, these gifts feel unearned,
Like fate made a glitch, or grace was mislearned.
I see others struggle, I see others strive,
While I float through moments just barely alive.
And the voice in my head says, “You’re taking up space—
Give it to someone with more of a place.”
What if I left, so someone could rise?
What if my absence would open the skies?
Would the world breathe easier, lighter, more fair,
If I stepped aside, vanished into air?
But here’s the truth I try to ignore:
Pain doesn’t balance by offering more.
You don’t fix the world by falling apart,
You don’t lift the load by breaking your heart.
What you have isn’t theft—it’s a thread in the weave,
And the world would not heal if you chose to leave.
You are not wrong for being alive.
You don’t have to suffer so others survive.
So stay—for a breath, for a moment, for now.
You don’t have to know why, or even know how.
But stay, even hurting. Stay, even small.
You matter. You’re human. That’s more than it all.
Copyright © Dylan Thomas | Year Posted 2025
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