burden

Piled on.
Bend knees, lift weight, hoist, exhale.

Muscles and bones adjust under a new weight.
New pressure.

Take a few more steps,
old bags hugging my curves in familiar ways.
New ones rubbing blisters.

I think I have this pace figured out.
Pace measured, calculated.
Body settles under and adapts.

Until they ask me to add more.
"Here, take this."

It is slightly familiar,
this they're handing me.
I know it, remember it, know how to carry it.

But with this new load,
I can't find room.

My shoulders are laden.
My back burdened.

I remember what it felt like to carry that before.
The relief we all felt when it was put down.

The sort of burden, which tears you apart with its weight.
The sort of burden, which draws anger and bitterness and fear to the surface like a hot compress.
Intended to heal, but pulling.

It's just too heavy.
I shake my head, as words fly around me.
"No more than you can handle."

The words aren't true.
This, this is more.
What I've been handed, I cannot carry.

Truth bolsters me.
And with the quiet request, whispered through parched lips,
I ask what I know this burden is pressing me to ask.

Perhaps it is the purpose of the burden.
The mission of the weight.

To bring you to your knees.