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Atlas Couldn't Hold Me.

He wouldn't know anything of a weight that you don't carry on your shoulders, of one that crushes you from within. Does it cave into his bones as it does mine?

We never chose this. Who would? I was born one way; who says I must stay that way? I was born 5 pounds and a kilo of expectations.

Why must I shed something to become myself? When was this placed on me? When I took a breath as myself, it crushed my ribs. I didn’t know the pain was so sharp.

They say forgiveness flows like a river, but mine runs dry. Each flower I tried to grow dies. I used to long for a self I could love. I wish I could feel air in my lungs.

I try. It’s suffocating. What crushes me isn’t close to me; it kills me from within. When was the seed of death planted in me? Why do I yearn for a sense of purpose this much? Why does my fight not die out? It would be much easier if it did.

Why do my bones take more to break? Endure, endure, endure. Feel it through and through. It’s almost as if I can endure enough to be myself. Maybe I will be able to stomach the idea of myself someday. For now, I drink the pink liquid.

I will drink until I change. I can’t stomach change. I throw it all up like yesterday.

He can’t hold me; neither can they.

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