I’m being pulled in every direction—

voices clawing at my shoulders,

needs like nails, sharp and constant,

I am threadbare in the tug-of-war of expectation.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

every hand wants a piece of me,

and I have nothing left to give,

only the echo of a name worn thin by demand.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

not a breath between requests,

no room to collapse or cry,

just smile, nod, keep moving—keep drowning.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

the weight isn’t on my back, it’s inside my bones,

a slow rot of exhaustion dressed in skin,

I carry it in silence while the world keeps spinning.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

and even the light at the end of the tunnel

feels like a lie, a trick of hope I can’t afford,

because I’ve been left so far behind.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

too tired to run, too needed to stop,

and the fear of failure screams louder

than the promise of rest ever could.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

each choice a chain, each step a burden,

but still, somehow, my feet move,

dragging my soul toward something like relief.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

and though the light terrifies me,

though I feel unworthy to touch it,

I still reach, trembling.

Because I’m being pulled in every direction—

but maybe, just maybe,

I can pull back.