There’s a heaviness- a total heaviness- weighing on my heart.

If I was smaller, I’d probably feel better, but I’m not.

My legs are tree trunks, covered in thick bark,

And my arms are cookie dough tubes threatening to burst open.

 I drift off to a place where no worries matter.

I am weightless.

I am sugar-spun hair and feathered skin.

There are no numbers, no measurements, no gain.

There are no monsters under the bed lurking in the shadows.

Their sharp teeth hide behind bloody lips.

Yet, my dreamland remains only in my mind.

I awaken to be smacked with my daily battle.

“Come out to play, darling,” the creatures whisper.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” they taunt.

I’m tired of running in this race.

My legs are still tree trunks, trying to chip off the thick layers of bark.

My arms are still bursting tubes, trying to neatly squeeze out excess dough.

If I was smaller- subtract three, eight, twelve pounds- I could experience the lightness.

But I am weighed with a heaviness, a total heaviness, on my heart.