They used to look at me, Like I ain't belonged.
now they watch like I’m becoming something they can’t ignore.
Quiet doesn’t mean weak––
it just means I learned how to carry storms without making noise.
I stopped asking rooms to accept me.
I just walked in like I was meant to be there.
They still call me “new,”
but new things grow fast.
And every step I take now
sounds less like fear
and more like arrival.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
They don’t know my name yet,
just the sound of footsteps I leave in empty halls,
a shadow learning how to stand in the light without folding.
New kid in a world that already decided the rules,
but I’m reading them backwards,
writing my own margins in pencil that won’t stay erased.
Eyes on me like I’m a question they forgot to study,
like I’m a glitch in their routine,
but I move like I belong in every space I enter.
I don’t speak loud, I speak real,
and real echoes longer than noise ever could.
So call me “new,”
but don’t confuse it with “temporary.”
Even beginnings have a way of learning how to stay.
May 4
May 4, 2026 at 10:31 AM UTC