Not Yours to Carry

Dear friend, I know you mean well, I see your heart, your intent to help. But please, don’t say you understand, How can you fathom storms you’ve never sailed?

If you wish to see, look within, Trace the quiet games you play without thought. Your words, so smooth and inviting, Weave a web I cannot escape.

This pain is my last inheritance, Passed down through the veins of my ancestors. It burns with their voices, their struggle, their hope, A light that is not yours to hold or dim.

This grief carries history carved in blood and bone, It binds me to those who came before. Dear friend, my sorrow is not a burden you can carry, Nor a wound you can mend.

It is the weight of generations, A thread tied tightly to my roots. So I ask, with love and respect, Let my sorrow rest where it belongs.