There's a heaviness
In taking responsibility
For something that you know
Truly isn't your fault
But feeling it is anyway.
Like your soul knows you are blameless
But your brain tells you how
What happened was a direct result
Of something you did,
Even unintentionally.
And all that heaviness pushes and pushes,
Leaving no space to breath,
Only enough room for the knots
In your stomach
And the pain in your chest
To choke out any chance that you may have had
Of feeling innocent
And, instead,
Leaves you feeling less than worthy.