In the quiet of the morning,
Before the world awakens,
I feel the weight of expectation,
A burden I’ve not forsaken.

They see me as the glue,
The strength that holds them tight,
But being everyone’s adhesive,
Is a never-ending fight.

I patch up all the cracks,
Mend hearts and shattered dreams,
Yet the glue that bonds together,
Isn’t as strong as it seems.

My strength is their salvation,
A beacon in the night,
But each piece that I am holding,
Slowly takes away my light.

Invisible threads that bind us,
Pull me in every way,
I stretch and strain and falter,
Piece by piece, I fray.

To be the one who fixes,
Is a role I did not choose,
Yet in their eyes, I’m solid,
A fortress they can’t lose.

But what they do not see,
Is the wear beneath the sheen,
The glue that seems so steadfast,
Is tearing at the seams.

I can’t be everyone’s anchor,
Or the rock on which they stand,
For even glue has limits,
And needs a helping hand.

So here I stand, confessing,
I can’t hold it all together,
Sometimes the strongest glue,
Must let go to last forever.

In the quiet of the morning,
I whisper to the sky,
I need to save a piece of me,
Before my spirit runs dry.