The Weight I Never Put Down

I woke up
heavier than yesterday.

Not in body.
In soul.

The mirror
refused to lie.

Tired eyes.
Empty posture.

Not from lack
of sleep.

From too much
thinking.

I carry things
no one sees.

Words
never spoken.

Moments
I replay.

Decisions
I regret.

And silence
I pretend is peace.

People say
"Let it go."

But how
do you drop
what lives inside you?

These thoughts
aren’t passengers.

They own
the driver's seat.

And I
I’m just along
for the ride.

Smiling.
Functioning.

But always
aching.

Every laugh
has a shadow.

Every quiet
has a scream.

No one asks
the right questions.

And maybe
that’s a blessing.

Because answers
aren’t easy.

They’re messy.
And raw.

They sound like
"I’m not okay."

Or
"I don’t remember joy."

Some days
I want to scream.

Others
I want to disappear.

But I show up.
Always.

Not because
I’m strong.

Because quitting
is louder
than I can handle.

So I live.
In silence.

In pieces.
In battle.

The weight
I never put it down.

I just learn
to walk with it.

Even when
my legs shake.

Even when
my heart begs.

Life doesn’t ask
if you’re ready.

It just moves.
And drags you with it