I slip through places where no one notices me. My days feel heavier than anything the world will throw at me. I drag along every thought, memory, and piece of me like chains I made myself.
I’m the anger with nowhere to go. I am the ache with no comfort. I am the exhaustion that sinks into my bones. It reminds me of what it costs just to be. Every breath is mine to take. Every heartbeat is mine to bear. Yet, they feel like they belong to a life that never noticed me.
I carry it all quietly because talking wouldn’t change anything. Smiling wouldn’t change anything. Moving, surviving, just being, none of it changes anything. The deepest truths live inside me, hidden from everyone else, unshared, unwitnessed, and maybe that’s what makes them mine.
Sometimes I wonder if breaking would feel like freedom, if letting go of all this weight would finally bring release. But I stay. I keep going. I’m still here. And in that staying, there’s no heroism, no grace, no applause just the empty, relentless beat of survival.
I’m alone, but not empty. I’m the storm I can’t escape. I’m the darkness that watches itself, knowing every corner, every scar, every thought that would break most people. I don’t break. I don’t bend. I don’t give in. I just exist, raw, unfiltered, unbearable, unstoppable.
I’m every pulse of anger, every flicker of despair, every quiet scream that never leaves my chest. I’m the weight, the witness, the shadow that moves in silence, fully aware of every crack inside me. And I’m here, entirely, undeniably, uncomfortably, completely…myself.