Some nights I just stare
at the ceiling
like it’s got answers
I ain’t ready for.
My chest don’t rise right,
my thoughts don’t land clean,
but I’m still here
still waking up.
And that’s gotta count
for something.

I carry too much silence
in a world
that only listens
when you scream.
But I’m not built for drama.
I’m built for storms.
For staying standing
when everything else breaks.

People left.
People lied.
People looked me in the eyes
and promised forever
with fingers crossed.
And yeah,
that used to **** me.

But now I let go
without warning.
No second chances.
No half-closed doors.
Just me,
the weight,
and whatever peace
I can wrestle from the night.

This ink ain’t for show.
It’s my scripture.
My history.
My survival in symbols.
The jester on my skin—
that’s the laugh I wear
when pain starts talking too loud.

I’m not bitter.
Just aware.
Just done
with hoping people
will be who I needed
when I needed them.

I’ve made peace with the mess.
I talk to the mirror
without flinching now.
I know who I am.
And more importantly
I know who I’m not.

I’ve bent,
I’ve broken,
but I never folded.
And I won’t start now.