Old Gravity

I woke up with the old weight Sitting heavy on my lungs,

Like the morning never happened,

Like the healing never begun.

Every mirror found an angle That could turn me into blame.

Every thought became a witness For the person I escaped.

I could feel the room get smaller.

I could hear the old refrain: “You were foolish to believe You

could become anything but pain.”

And I almost called it proof.

Almost let the darkness win.

But a bad day is not a doorway

Back to everything I’ve been.

Old gravity,

You still know how to pull me.

You still whisper like you own me,

Like my blood belongs below.

Old gravity, I can feel you in my body,

But the fact that I am falling Doesn’t mean I have to

go. I may shake.

I may bend. I may lose my breath again.

But one difficult night Doesn’t undo my life.

Old gravity, You can drag against my feet,

But you don’t get all of me.

I thought change would make me fearless.

I thought strength would make me sure.

I thought once I found the doorway,

I would never need the cure.

But the mind remembers patterns Like a river knows its route,

And the pain can sound convincing When it speaks in your own

mouth. So I blamed myself for hurting.

I called weakness by my name.

I forgot that even progress

Sometimes limps beneath the weight.

Then beneath the accusation,

Something quieter replied:

“You have lived through every version

That insisted you should die.”

Old gravity, You still know how to pull me.

You still whisper like you own me,

Like my blood belongs below.

Old gravity, I can feel you in my body,

But the fact that I am falling Doesn’t mean I have to

go. I may shake.

I may bend. I may lose my breath again.

But one difficult night Doesn’t undo my life.

Old gravity,

You can drag against my feet,

But you don’t get all of me.

Not all of me.

Not anymore. You know the house,

But not the door.

I nearly crawled back to the ruins Just because they knew my

shape. Nearly called the cage familiar And mistook familiar

for safe.

I nearly buried every promise Under one returning ache.

But recovery is not a straight line.

It is every turn I make.

So let me cry without surrender.

Let me rest without retreat.

Let me be a work in progress

Without calling me incomplete.

I have fallen here before,

But I am not who fell before.

I have heard this voice before,

But I don’t worship it anymore.

Old gravity,

You may always pull beneath me.

There may always be a shadow That remembers where I broke.

Old gravity, I am done confusing struggle With a failure to recover,

With a reason to lose hope.

I may shake. I may bend.

I may need some help again.

But one difficult night Doesn’t get to take my life.

Old gravity, You can drag against my feet— I am learning how

to leave.

Falling is not the ending.

Fear is not the truth.

The ground may still remember me,

But I remember moving too.