The Weight I Thought I Was

Today I realized

I don’t know how to ask for help

my mouth forgets the words

the moment I need them most.

Not because I’m strong,

not because I don’t ache,

but because I’m afraid of becoming excess,

a weight added to an already heavy world.

Somewhere along the way

I learned to minimize my hurt,

to fold it neatly inside myself,

to tell myself everyone else is already drowning.

I convince myself my voice would interrupt,

my need would irritate,

my honesty would ask for more

than anyone has left to give.

So I stay quiet.

I carry it alone.

I call it independence

when it is really fear wearing armor.

But even in this darkness,

I know what I’m searching for.

Not saviors.

Not constant rescue.

Just a few people

who don’t flinch when I’m honest,

who don’t see my vulnerability as a burden,

who understand me without asking me to shrink.

And maybe one day

I’ll learn that asking for help

isn’t taking too much

It’s trusting that I deserve space,

and that being held

can be a form of hope.