The morning is heavy,
like a stone resting on my chest.
I rise because I must,
not because the day calls me.
Each step feels rehearsed,
a quiet performance
for an audience that cannot see
how frayed the backstage really is.
The smile—painted thin—
cracks when no one’s looking,
and silence becomes
both comfort and cage.
Imagine carrying a shadow
that never asks permission,
but follows,
even into the brightest rooms.
Yet still,
somewhere beneath the weight,
a pulse remains—
small, stubborn,
reminding me I am still here.
Therapy Bits 
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