The Weight of My Spine

Hunched shoulders round in shame,

a question mark carved into frame.

Reflected back by darkened glass,

the crooked shadow does not pass.

All day bent above the keys,

back arguing with silent pleas.

Straightening hurts more than slouch,

my body locked in quiet crouch.

Faint shadow cast on cracked wall,

silent witness to the fall.

Weight presses, slow decline—

this broken posture is mine.