When I was a little girl, and couldn't fall asleep at night, my dad told me to pretend I was heavy.
So heavy I could fall through the earth, and come out on the other side.
And as I fell through the mattress, I fell asleep.
I am not a little girl anymore, but I still feel heavy.
Heavy; from the looks, and stares, and laughs, as I walk pass someone.
Heavy; from the guilt of not being perfect, or enough.
Heavy; from the exhaustion of living, and lack of reasons to do so.
I'm sorry dad, but I just can't fall asleep.
Even though nothing is heavier, than my thoughts late at night.