The bricks have yet to shape to my
foot’s natural arch.
They still attack the pavement
with so much force my bones quiver.
Their bulky shape still rolls my ankles
and I cringe at my gait.
The anchor around my throat has yet to find
a resting place.
It abuses my skin as it stretches
down my stature.
It marks itself against my body with
each
wavering
step.
The cuffs against my wrists have yet to stop
chaffing my vulnerabilities.
They find unharmed skin with each rotation
and remind me that no where am I free.
The dagger in my lung has yet to find
comfort in my innermost crest.
It embeds deeper and is appeased
with each stolen breath.
It rusts against my rib cage
and shows me vintage lust.
They adapt to my aches and thrive
on my infected sides.
They remind me of their gravity and boast
of their ability to proliferate.
Oh, how could I ever forget my
heaviest weights.
___________________________________________
I wrote this while on a plane and I cried into my sweatshirt. I remember the heaviness I felt. What a freeing feeling to reread this with a newfound lightness. Oh, how I am stronger than my heaviest weights.
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