I carry more than I should,
my heart heavy with what others call love
how can I drop what they call love?
Still, I wonder:
if I learn to say no,
and stand whole and free
will they still call me kind,
or will I be seen as drifting away
from the warmth of their hopes?
Who am I beneath this giving?
A kindness stretched so thin,
aching in places I can’t reach.
A part of me longs for walls,
soft yet strong,
protecting the fragile parts inside,
but still, I nod. And I give.
To refuse feels like breaking a spell,
while to comply feels like losing my way.
So, I walk this delicate line of love,
balancing kindness with the quiet fear
of fading into the shadows of others’ needs.
