Borrowed Weight

Some burdens
never belonged
to the people carrying them.

They were handed over quietly,

wrapped inside expectations,

inside traditions,

inside sentences beginning with,

"This is just how we are."

No one questioned
who packed the weight.

Only whether
you could carry it
without complaining.

So generations learned
to confuse endurance
with identity.

To believe exhaustion
was proof of loyalty.

To wear emotional bruises
like family heirlooms.

Until someone
finally stopped walking,

set everything down,

and asked,

"What if survival
was never supposed
to feel like this?"

Sometimes

that single question

breaks a chain
stronger than certainty.