Heavy

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.