Weights

I heard your bones groan
under the pressure of being enough.
Your arms hold expectations
and reach for those unmet
while your hands hold
small strings tied to disappointment.

Love on your chest feels weightless.

Two feet anchored with stone.
Legs barely supporting
the confusion about identity.

All the parts of your efforts and your failures make up
something you wish you could love -
and you might.

How hard is it to measure up?