Better

I rarely feel the weight on my chest.
The weight that would both hurt and comfort.
The weight that I longed for but also despised.
The weight that I rarely carry anymore.

I miss that weight.
The warmth it brought when anger struck,
The satisfaction that came when I would yell and scream,
I was pressed by that weight to yell and scream.

It knew what I needed.
What would make me feel something.
Anything.
I thought I needed that weight.

Something to be angered by and to yell at.
It didn’t care if I yelled or screamed.
Though…
I now feel light.

I don’t need to yell and scream.
I don’t understand it.
Why did it leave?

Am I finally,
Better?