There’s no parade for getting dressed,
No cheers for rising with the rest.
No medals hung for one more day
Of keeping all the dark at bay.

The mirror shows a tired face,
Worn down by time, devoid of grace.
But still I stand, with aching spine,
And claim this wrecked, unsteady line.

My thoughts are storms I cannot flee,
A flood that lives inside of me.
They twist my name, they bend my will,
And yet I breathe, I’m fighting still.

"You’re weak," it says, "Just close your eyes
You’ve had enough of scraped-up tries."
But I’ve grown used to its deceit,
The voice that begs for my defeat.

I’ve learned to rise without a cause,
To push through pain with silent jaws.
No trumpet sounds, no flash of light
Just grit, just breath, just endless fight.

Some days I win by standing tall.
Some days I rise, then start to fall.
But even crawling, cracked with doubt,
I choose to stay not figure out.

There’s no one there to see me crawl,
No crowd that gasps or breaks my fall.
But still I move, through silent screams
The shattered bones of broken dreams.

I don’t need stars or perfect skin,
Just proof I didn’t let it win.
And every day I don’t let go
That’s victory.
Though it won’t show.