I’ve always been a crooked road,
Lain with thorns,
While roses watched in silence from the side.
I let myself go—
Unraveled,
Each choice trembling
At the whisper that choice should bend
To circumstance.

They say I should shift—
Mirror the view.
But when I do,
The real me starts to panic.

She is a storm unprobed,
A force better left unnamed.
I walk contradiction—
Each truth I am
Cancels out another.

But still, I remain.

I won’t drain my cup
For hands that never pour.
And I don’t expect the same—
I don’t want to be poured from an empty cup too.