Survival’s a game,
Played without the rules,
Adapting, changing,
Yet seen as the fool.
Labeled wrong,
When I only tried to breathe,
Met with resistance,
What’s left to believe?

So I began to slip,
Let the fight drain from my grip.
Each label stitched with quiet scorn,
Made me smaller than I was born.
I wore erasure like a second skin —
To be forgettable was how I kept myself in.