The weight is heavy
not from the world,
but from the wreckage I carry
inside my own chest.
I built this burden brick by brick,
with every promise I broke
to myself.

I can’t breathe.
Not because there’s no air
but because I’ve learned to choke
on my own expectations,
on all the times I said
“I’ll do better tomorrow”
and didn’t.

I stare at the mirror,
but all I see is a ghost
of the girl I swore I’d become.
She looks back,
disappointed
not with the world,
but with me.

I let myself down, again.
And again.
And again.

How do you forgive
the one person who
never seems to change?
Who keeps repeating the same fall
with hope in her pocket
and shame on her face?

I’m tired of pretending
this is healing.
I’m tired of calling this
a lesson.
What if I’m just broken?
What if the climb
was never mine to make?

But even here,
gasping beneath the weight,
there’s a whisper
maybe not today,
but someday,
I’ll stand
and she’ll be proud
to be me.