Hunger
20 October 2024

Each morning, I wake—
hungry, not just for bread or breath,
but for something deeper,
a taste of the world still untamed,
a bite of what I have yet to find.

I have walked with loss,
felt the weight of dreams half-grown,
and watched as belief slipped,
like sand through open hands.

Incomplete, yes—
but I wear it like a second skin,
not as a wound,
but as a mark of a life still reaching.

I wake, and I am alive,
hungry for what’s next,
for love, for understanding,
for the answers I will never find—
and that’s enough.

In each sunrise, I feel the ache
of being unfinished,
but I know,
there’s beauty in the emptiness.