i tread lightly, so lightly,
like the blades of freshly mowed grass under bare feet,
soft but sharp, each step a gamble,
each breath a question:
is this enough? am i enough?
or will this be the moment i falter,
crack the shell beneath me,
and ruin the picture they’ve painted of me?

the air smells like summer mornings,
sweet and green,
but there’s no freedom here.
i carry blueberries in my hands,
small, tender, delicate things,
their skin unbroken,
and i wonder—
if i crush them,
if i let their juice stain my fingers,
will they see me as careless?
or simply clumsy?

every laugh, every glance,
every word not spoken—
it’s all a calculation.
don’t be too loud,
don’t be too quiet,
don’t love too much,
but don’t love too little.
it’s an endless list of contradictions,
a tightrope stretched over a sea of doubt.

and when they look at me,
do they see the cracks?
the fault lines spidering through my porcelain smile?
or do they only see the shine,
the way i’ve polished myself for them?
do they even care
what lies beneath the glaze?

i dream of letting go,
of running barefoot through the grass
without caring if the blades cut,
of letting the blueberries burst in my hands,
their sweetness mixing with the salt of my tears.
i dream of speaking without thinking,
of laughing too loud,
of loving too much,
of being the mess i was always meant to be.

but the eggshells call me back,
their fragile crunch a reminder:
you are only as beautiful as the steps you take,
only as lovable as the silence you keep.
and so i tread lightly, so lightly,
balancing the world on my aching toes.