It’s really hard to undo this

idea. That a safe space is where

nothing is expected of me,

rather

than a place where I feel loved

and valued.

 

To be so driven by the notion,

that expectation is innately wrong somehow.

Instead of a tool,

weaponized by the adults around me,

but not incorrect in itself.

 

A ball, full of potential,

can be anything

but not everything.

We have to choose one.

 

We set expectations ourselves,

whether we realize it or not.

 

Crushed by the weight of it all,

the thoughts and dreams of those we care about.

the ideals we’ve been shown to strive for since we were young.

 

Far too much weight for anyone to carry

not because we aren’t strong enough,

but because the love that holds it all together,

has seemingly disappeared.

 

Like a house built without nails or screws.

All that weight, the whole structure, held up

by the tension between the building blocks.

Only maintainable in a vacuum.