My heart. So, yeah, it only ways so many grams, a fraction of a kilogram, but I figure it's got to be made of some pretty strong, heavy stuff because it's held up so long. See, sometimes it supports more than just the weight of my veins wrapped around my bones, stitched through my muscles. Sometimes it supports the weight of the sun when I see it shining; sometimes it lies horrizontal when my legs, rusted from tears, have collapsed. It held the weight of my friend when she related her story of sexual assault, sobbing guilt and rage. It's beaten through so much of life and still carries memories laced with lead, but I wouldn't have it another way. My heart is the heaviest thing I own, and I know it won't break no matter how much weight is hefted onto it.
Seriously though... Probably a chest of drawers here in my room with a big ol' mirror on it. The heart thing was just on a whim. I was kind of reworking a poem in my head and this topic inspired something, so kudos.