She kept asking me to wear her worry,
and eventually it wore me down.
She handed me her worry so often
I started wearing it like my own.
She wanted me to carry her worry.
After a while I couldn’t carry myself.
I wore her worry so long it began to fit.
She draped her worry over my shoulders
until I forgot what lightness felt like.
Her worry became a coat I never chose
but somehow kept wearing.
Devastated, I found sanctuary on the ridge,
gratefully unbuttoning that coat
one stubborn button at a time
letting the wild wind back in.
Accepting the gift of knowing
what I’m not meant to carry.
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