it doesn’t fall all at once
it unravels
slow
like thread pulled from a sleeve you didn’t know was holding you together

one belief at a time
one story gone sour
one truth too sharp to swallow quietly

and then it happens
you wake up
not in a new world
but in the real one
that was always there beneath the theater

the lights are off now
the set is gone
and you’re standing in the rawness
of what actually is

no narrator
no script
no one left pretending

just you
and the truth you kept trying to avoid
with distraction
hope
or someone else’s dream

the illusion kept you warm
you won’t lie about that

but it also kept you asleep
kept you small
kept you spinning stories
instead of facing the silence
that held the real answers

and now?
now the silence is all you have

it doesn’t hug you
it doesn’t clap
it doesn’t tell you it’ll be okay

it just waits
for you to stop mourning what was never real
so you can finally begin
from what is

it’s brutal
not in cruelty
but in clarity

there are no masks left to wear
no promises left to chase
just the raw ground beneath your feet
and the strange freedom
of finally seeing clearly

this is where reality begins
in the ash of illusion
in the quiet knowing
that even without the dream
you are still here

breathing
seeing
ready
to rebuild
something honest

the hope is this

that even without the applause
the platform
or the so-called proof
you’re still real
and what’s real
doesn’t disappear
just because it was overlooked

the hope
isn’t in some grand reward
or the fantasy that one day
they’ll come knocking with roses and recognition
you already know better than that

the hope
is quieter
but stronger

it lives in the fact
that your fire
did not go out
even when you were alone with it
even when you had to tend it
from a bed that felt like exile

the hope
is that something
was being built
even in the stillness

something invisible
but indestructible

a depth that can’t be faked
a clarity that can’t be taught
a legacy
that will outlast trends, timelines, and tired gods

you are the proof
not the posts
not the numbers
not the noise

you

you, with your pain-worn hands
your soul that still stretches
your voice that still reaches
even when no one answers

the hope
is that none of it was wasted

not because of what you get
but because of who you became
in the burning

and that
that is the kind of hope
this world can’t erase

they don’t see it
how could they?
pain this quiet
doesn’t bleed where they’re used to looking

severe nerve damage, they say
but what does that mean
to someone who’s never had to lie still
for six years
and pretend that stillness is peace?

they don’t know
what it’s like
to feel your body turn into a cage
while your spirit tries
to outrun the bars

you were not just bedridden
you were buried alive
in your own limbs
with nothing but thoughts for company
and time
that didn’t pass
it pressed

years blurred
your effort didn’t

you still burned
you wrote
you reached
you built

you tried
to create a way out
with nothing but your breath
and a hope that no one handed you

and yet here you are
not broken
but brittle from carrying too much truth
and too few witnesses

they praise survival
but only when it’s pretty
only when it walks
only when it performs

they don’t praise
the kind of survival that’s quiet
that writes in the dark
that keeps a fire lit
without ever seeing smoke

you did everything
and you have nothing to show for it

except
the words
the knowing
the truth that didn’t die
just because your body couldn’t run anymore

you are not your output
you are not what they notice
you are the burn
that never stopped—
even when no one looked
even when you couldn’t rise

you still haven’t been seen
but you are still here
and that matters more
than they will ever understand

sadness doesn’t knock
it seeps
through songs you weren’t ready to hear
through smiles that almost feel real
through the long pauses
between your name and meaning

it lives
in the breath after someone asks
“how are you?”
and you lie
because honesty takes too long to explain

some days, sadness is a fog
you learn to walk through
not escape
just navigate
with hands outstretched
and hope in your pocket
even if you never take it out

it does not mean you're failing
it does not mean you're weak
it means you are still soft
in a world that taught you
to be numb

it means you still care
even when you say you don't
even when you pretend you’re fine

sadness is not the absence of light
it’s proof the light once lived there
a shadow cast
only because something once burned
bright enough to leave a mark

so sit with it
don’t fix it
don’t shame it
don’t rush it away

this, too, is part of the becoming
this, too, is sacred

sadness is a season
not a sentence
and you, love
are still growing through it

sadness doesn’t scream
it leans
quietly
like a shadow that forgets its own name

it comes dressed
in the clothes of your past
sits beside you
without asking
and reminds you
of every version of yourself
you never forgave

it’s not loud
it doesn’t need to be
it just stares
through your hands
while you wash dishes
walk sidewalks
scroll phones

and suddenly
everything tastes like memory

sadness is not weakness
it is unspent love
it is the echo of care
with nowhere left to go
it is the after of joy
the proof that something mattered
the ache
of still holding on
to what the world told you
to let go of

you are not broken
because you feel deeply
you are whole
because you refuse
to forget what it means
to be human

sadness isn’t the end
it’s the soil

and something
is trying
to bloom

oncе upon a timе, i was an opеn book
my lifе was an opеn door, anyonе could look
i’d tеll my storiеs to anyonе who would listеn
my joys, my strugglеs, my fеars, i did not kееp thеm hiddеn

but as i grеw oldеr, i startеd to sее
that not еvеryonе was worthy of all of mе
somе pеoplе would takе what i sharеd and usе it against mе
my vulnеrability could bе a wеapon and thеy would bеnd it to thеir own glее

so i startеd to pull back, to kееp somе things insidе
i found that not еvеryonе dеsеrvеd my truth, and that was just finе
as my еyеs opеnеd widеr, i rеalizеd
that somе pеoplе wеrе looking for a way to criticizе instеad of sееing еyе to еyе

it's not that i don't trust anyonе anymorе
but rathеr, i'm morе sеlеctivе about what i put out thеrе
my hеart is not a playground or a public spacе
and not еvеryonе is dеsеrving of sееing my facе
i lеarnеd that somеtimеs, thе grеatеst gift of all
is thе ability to kееp somе things bеhind a wall
to sharе with thosе who support and uplift, еspеcially aftеr a fall
rathеr than еmpty words that somеtimеs causе a rift

so now whеn i spеak, i choosе my words with carе
i only sharе truth with thosе who arе thеrе
i no longеr givе away my powеr or my drеams
to whoеvеr may want to tеar thеm at thе sеams

i’m protеctivе of my hеart but i don’t hidе it away
And i found that in doing so, i’vе comе a long way
i’m strongеr, truеr, and morе confidеnt too
i owе it all to lеarning to bе just a littlе bit morе sеlеctivе with thе truth