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tricked myself
into believing
i was okay.

took another path,
veered off course—

now my
neuropathways
are backfiring.

forcing myself
to keep my head high,

so i don’t slip
into the same
chaotic state

that’s way
too familiar.

it’s all
so tiring.

i’m sick
of it.

tired of
feeling comatose,
unalive,

just drifting.
with tired
eyes.

i’m ready
for what’s next.

i need something
with weight—
with substance.
with meaning.

i’m done
keeping my
head down.

i’m done
drowning.

it’s my time.

this isn’t
my ending.

this is the
beginning

of an era
they thought
was lost.

i’m reclaiming
what’s mine—

i’m ready
for

what’s next.

because nothing
will hold me down

anymore.
inspired by Slaves' "Patience is the Virtue," this poem is an anthem for anyone who’s been buried under burnout, trauma, and self-doubt—but still rises. “what’s next” isn’t just a question—it’s a declaration. the past may haunt, but it no longer owns the future. this is reclamation.

— The End —