i wear
the cloak of expectations,
stitched from the sins of others,
woven tight like fig leaves —
covering the shame
that is
not mine.
they say,
be this,
be that,
carry the burden
of the world —
like the mount of uhud,
heavy,
and unyielding.
but when i look
into the mirror,
it shatters,
like the moon split asunder,
pieces scattered
across the floor,
beyond repair.
“just be happy,”
they say,
“be perfect,
be the image,
the reflection.”
but my soul
feels like a vessel,
empty,
lost,
waiting for the rain,
as if i am the dry earth,
thirsting for the mercy
of a single drop.
i reach for the stars —
but my hands
can never grasp
the heavens.
i look for the light,
but the darkness swallows it whole,
and i wonder —
if i’ve stopped looking,
if the search
was always
a lie.
they say,
to be enough,
but the world
only knows the hunger —
the longing for something
beyond reach.
how many times,
must i lift my heart
like the mountain,
and yet,
still
fall short?
have i not been enough?
am i not enough?
or was i never meant to be?
the ink of my life
is written on fragile skin,
prayers said in silence —
but no one listens anymore.
but when the world turns away,
i remain here
lost,
empty,
wondering —
am i enough?