Jan 7
Maybe I’ve learned to accept myself,
to find peace in who I am.
Maybe I see the meaning in my life,
here in the world I’ve built—
quiet, steady,
safe behind these walls I know too well.
Or maybe I haven’t.
Maybe I can’t.
Not in a world that whispers rules into my ear—
how to be,
how to feel,
how to shrink myself
into their fragile mold.
A world that tells me
I am never enough,
never complete,
never whole.
Maybe I dream of freedom—
of skies that stretch like open arms,
of oceans murmuring my name,
promising a world untouched by fear.
But out there,
even the streets are battles.
At night, I’m too afraid to walk alone,
because I know the eyes are waiting—
to measure,
to judge,
to shrink me into something less than I am.
Maybe I’ve started to like myself now,
more than I ever did before.
Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped trying to fit
into their broken world,
a world that demands more and more
until I forget who I am.
But maybe I’ve lost something, too.
Maybe the love I had for myself
was stolen by a world
that feeds on envy,
a machine built to divide us,
to make us compete,
until we tear each other apart.
While above us,
those who built it
watch without consequence.
Maybe I am enough—
not as they define me,
not as they demand,
but as I am.
Maybe it’s time to smash the reflection
they forced me to see,
to shatter the image
and recognize this truth:
this system was never made for us.
It was never built to lift us,
to heal us,
to make us whole.
It was built to keep us small.
What if we stopped feeding their lies?
What if we let the chains fall,
reached for each other,
and refused to play their game?
Because we were never meant
to live in a world
that tells us every day
we are not enough.
We were meant to rise,
to find beauty in the scars they taught us to hide,
to build a life that is ours,
not theirs.
And maybe—just maybe—
we’ve been enough all along.
Not because they told us so,
but because we dared to believe it.
to find peace in who I am.
Maybe I see the meaning in my life,
here in the world I’ve built—
quiet, steady,
safe behind these walls I know too well.
Or maybe I haven’t.
Maybe I can’t.
Not in a world that whispers rules into my ear—
how to be,
how to feel,
how to shrink myself
into their fragile mold.
A world that tells me
I am never enough,
never complete,
never whole.
Maybe I dream of freedom—
of skies that stretch like open arms,
of oceans murmuring my name,
promising a world untouched by fear.
But out there,
even the streets are battles.
At night, I’m too afraid to walk alone,
because I know the eyes are waiting—
to measure,
to judge,
to shrink me into something less than I am.
Maybe I’ve started to like myself now,
more than I ever did before.
Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped trying to fit
into their broken world,
a world that demands more and more
until I forget who I am.
But maybe I’ve lost something, too.
Maybe the love I had for myself
was stolen by a world
that feeds on envy,
a machine built to divide us,
to make us compete,
until we tear each other apart.
While above us,
those who built it
watch without consequence.
Maybe I am enough—
not as they define me,
not as they demand,
but as I am.
Maybe it’s time to smash the reflection
they forced me to see,
to shatter the image
and recognize this truth:
this system was never made for us.
It was never built to lift us,
to heal us,
to make us whole.
It was built to keep us small.
What if we stopped feeding their lies?
What if we let the chains fall,
reached for each other,
and refused to play their game?
Because we were never meant
to live in a world
that tells us every day
we are not enough.
We were meant to rise,
to find beauty in the scars they taught us to hide,
to build a life that is ours,
not theirs.
And maybe—just maybe—
we’ve been enough all along.
Not because they told us so,
but because we dared to believe it.
