Stack thirty-three vertebrae on top of each other like Jenga,
Add on a few pounds of pressure,
The parental and peer kind, both.
I got used to the pain, now it is my pleasure
To carry this heavy load.

Breaking my back from the burden I must bear,
It was my choice after all.
(At least that’s what I swear)

This weight of expectations is ever increasing, it starts taking its toll:
Slowly I begin losing myself-
 I am no longer whole.

And no one must know what I really want,
No one, not even I.
How easy would it then be to pretend,
How easy would it then be to lie.

And after my spine is bent out of shape,
Unrecognizable as my own,
I will sell it for all that it’s worth-
The price of thirty-three bones.