So much weight on such an
small average frame.
Every single ounce seems to bring me further down.
Both mentally and physically.
Perhaps the number that mocks me on the scale is not the main source
of weight that is driving me mad.
Perhaps it is the fact that I have carried so much, too much,
for too long.
I am exhausted.
But I have survived off of the rim of shiny cans,
and the corners of his smile,
and the comfort of my bed that's always felt like home.
But I fear for the day that this is not enough.
I fear for the day that I am no longer enough.