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.