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