We brace for the worst, hope for the best,
Our hearts beat alarms, never at rest.
A glance, a word, a subtle disguise,
We read the truth behind all your lies.
Our gut is a map, our mind a shield,
We sense the harm the world won’t yield.
It’s not paranoia, it’s fire in our veins,
A rhythm of survival born from our pains.
You call it cold, defensive, wrong,
But you’ve never lived where nights are long.
Never known hands meant to hold,
Turned to claws that scratch, that scold.
Books, training, courses—shadows at best,
They cannot teach a brain under unrest.
We’re wired to see what others ignore,
To guard, to protect, to endure and soar.
You punish the instincts that kept us alive,
Judging the ways that made us survive.
You label, you shame, you twist what’s true,
But how could you feel what we’ve been through?
Every caution, every pause, every wall,
Is not weakness—it’s the rise after the fall.
We’re tuned to detect what your eyes can’t find,
A radar of danger built into our mind.
So next time you judge, next time you sneer,
Ask yourself this, let it echo clear:
What would you do if the world burned your trust?
Would you survive, or crumble to dust?
We are hardwired, instinct, alive,
Our vigilance pulses, it will survive.
Not broken, not strange, not cold, not weak,
We are the voice of the silent, the strong, the meek.
Remember this truth when you look our way:
Some lessons aren’t taught—they’re lived every day.
And no amount of reading, training, or plan
Will make you fully see the world we began.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 1:01 PM UTC
We brace for the worst, hope for the best,
Our hearts beat alarms, never at rest.
A glance, a word, a subtle disguise,
We read the truth behind all your lies.
Our gut is a map, our mind a shield,
We sense the harm the world won’t yield.
It’s not paranoia, it’s fire in our veins,
A rhythm of survival born from our pains.
You call it cold, defensive, wrong,
But you’ve never lived where nights are long.
Never known hands meant to hold,
Turned to claws that scratch, that scold.
Books, training, courses—shadows at best,
They cannot teach a brain under unrest.
We’re wired to see what others ignore,
To guard, to protect, to endure and soar.
You punish the instincts that kept us alive,
Judging the ways that made us survive.
You label, you shame, you twist what’s true,
But how could you feel what we’ve been through?
Every caution, every pause, every wall,
Is not weakness—it’s the rise after the fall.
We’re tuned to detect what your eyes can’t find,
A radar of danger built into our mind.
So next time you judge, next time you sneer,
Ask yourself this, let it echo clear:
What would you do if the world burned your trust?
Would you survive, or crumble to dust?
We are hardwired, instinct, alive,
Our vigilance pulses, it will survive.
Not broken, not strange, not cold, not weak,
We are the voice of the silent, the strong, the meek.
Remember this truth when you look our way:
Some lessons aren’t taught—they’re lived every day.
And no amount of reading, training, or plan
Will make you fully see the world we began.
Our instincts, vigilance, and caution are not flaws—they’re survival. If you haven’t lived it, you can’t fully understand it. Read, reflect, and ask yourself: what would you do if the world had burned your trust?
