There’s a war that no one sees,
fought in the quiet corners of my mind—
a shadowed battle, fierce and slow,
where hope retreats, then dares to climb.
Each morning feels like lifting stone,
each breath a promise hard to keep,
but still I rise, though cracked and torn,
from restless nights of aching sleep.
I’ve met the monsters wearing my face,
their whispers threading through my chest,
they tell me I am not enough—
I answer now: I’ll do my best.
Some days the sunlight cuts through gray,
a single spark, a fragile thread,
reminding me that healing comes
in moments, not in leaps ahead.
So here I stand—not fully free,
but living still, and learning how
to turn my scars to map the way—
the battle rages, but I bow…
not in defeat, but reverent grace,
for I’m still here, still holding space.

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