The Weight of Invisible Chains

Stress is a whisper that grows to a scream,

It slips into daylight,

it poisons the dream.

It hides in the ticking of clocks on the wall,

It waits in the silence; it waits in the call.

At first it is gentle,

a shadow,

a breeze,

A tremor of worry that bends at the knees.

But days become rivers,

and rivers a sea,

Till drowning feels normal,

till drowning is me.

The body grows weary,

the mind starts to fray,

Each sunrise feels heavier,

colder, more gray.

The smile becomes hollow,

the laughter a chore,

And joy feels like something I can’t find no more.

Stress is a thief that steals rest from the night,

It feeds on my weakness,

it cripples my fight.

It whispers,

“You’re failing, you’re never enough,”

And turns simple tasks into mountains so rough.

The heart starts to falter,

the spirit grows thin,

The battle is outward,

but lost deep within.

Dreams gather dust on a shelf in my head,

While worries take root where hope once had spread.

I try to stand taller,

to mask what I feel,

To act like the breaks in my armor can heal.

But stress is relentless,

it gnaws at the bone,

It makes even crowded rooms feel so alone.

Yet somewhere inside,

a small ember remains,

Though battered and buried by invisible chains.

A voice soft as dawn says,

“You’ve carried too much, But spirits can mend with a gentler touch.”

For though stress can shatter,

can bend,

can confine,

The spirit still whispers,

“This life can be mine.”

The cracks may be plenty,

the scars may be deep,

But even a weary soul learns it can keep.

So stress may unmake me,

may tear me apart,

But it will not silence the will of my heart.

For though it may break me and darken my skies,

A spirit once broken still learns how to rise.