​Placement.

A word that holds more weight than most will ever admit.

It is the difference between burden and foundation—
between what’s meant to crush you,
and what’s built to carry you.

Because weight, in the wrong place,
doesn’t just sit.
It multiplies.
It seeps.
It anchors itself—
in insecurity,
in pride disguised as power,
in the quiet dread of its own irrelevance.

Some will try to stack their weight on you.
Not to test your strength—
but to slow your steps.
To fracture your footing.
To make you question if you ever had ground to stand on at all.

Let them.

Let them watch.

Because what they fail to understand is this:
weight only wins when you let it settle.

And I?
I don’t settle.

I don’t carry what was never mine to hold.
I don’t contort my voice to fit their fear.
I don’t shrink to make arrogance feel at home.

I move weightless—
in conviction,
in breath,
in the unshakable truth
that I belong wherever I decide to be.

That is where it starts.
That is where I build.
That is where I rise.

And if my presence disturbs their balance—good.
Maybe it’s time
they learned
what real placement feels like.