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The Weight
I carry it in my chest—
a stone that won’t shift,
a truth that won’t quiet,
a wound that isn’t mine
but bleeds, all the same.
I watch a lover sit with a liar,
hands held, lips kissed.
I watch betrayal,
I see laughter rise on rotting foundations,
kind whispers coating cool deceptions,
promises made without intent.
I could tear the lie from the dark,
and hold it to the light.
But truth cuts indiscriminately—
and they would look at me
as if I held the knife,
as if the wound were mine to make.
So I carry it—
the weight, of knowing,
the silence that keeps them safe.
I let lover walk blindly beside their liar.
When the hurt finds its home,
when the hands unclasp,
when the laughter dies,
they will break.
And I will still be standing here,
holding the weight of knowing.
27 February 2025
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This is beautifully haunting. It captures the burden of unspoken truths, the quiet suffering of witnessing a deception unfold, and the inevitability of heartbreak. The repetition of the weight, of knowing really drives home the loneliness of carrying a truth that isn’t yours to tell. It reads like the moment before the storm, that eerie stillness when you already know how it ends but can do nothing to stop it.