The impact was quiet, a stone in the deep,
But the ripples were ghosts that I couldn't quite keep.
I was a house with no windows, a moon with no tide,
Starving for mirrors while locked up inside.
In the eye of the storm, my world swirling around—
A weightless survivor who couldn't find ground.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
The doors were all locked and the air was so thin,
The world was a blade that was held to my skin.
I was buried alive in a name not my own,
A harvest of thorns in a field never sown.
So I turned to the silence to find what was true,
And learned how to breathe in the weightless and true.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
I sketched out the shadows to give them a name,
Till the girl on the paper stepped out of the frame.
I asked of the "Why?" till the soil became gold,
And birthed a new version of "home" from the cold.
I became my own anchor, my own north star,
The bridge and the water, the moon and the stars.
It’s a weightless surrender, a sweet, hollow ache,
A promise I’ve made that I will not break.
I push to the edge where the gravity dies,
And look at the world through my own open eyes.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 8:57 PM UTC
The impact was quiet, a stone in the deep,
But the ripples were ghosts that I couldn't quite keep.
I was a house with no windows, a moon with no tide,
Starving for mirrors while locked up inside.
In the eye of the storm, my world swirling around—
A weightless survivor who couldn't find ground.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
The doors were all locked and the air was so thin,
The world was a blade that was held to my skin.
I was buried alive in a name not my own,
A harvest of thorns in a field never sown.
So I turned to the silence to find what was true,
And learned how to breathe in the weightless and true.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
I sketched out the shadows to give them a name,
Till the girl on the paper stepped out of the frame.
I asked of the "Why?" till the soil became gold,
And birthed a new version of "home" from the cold.
I became my own anchor, my own north star,
The bridge and the water, the moon and the stars.
It’s a weightless surrender, a sweet, hollow ache,
A promise I’ve made that I will not break.
I push to the edge where the gravity dies,
And look at the world through my own open eyes.
I wove a new thread from the gray and the gold,
To wrap up the girl who was left in the cold.
I’m the needle and thread, the cut and the seam,
The one who wakes up inside of the dream.
The signal is steady, the frequency’s clear—
I’ve finally found my own way to be here.
