Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

There’s a war in my chest
with no flags,
no uniforms,
just angels with tired wings
and demons with patient knives.

They don’t scream.
They whisper.
One says "breathe"
The other says "break."

Most days I wake up
somewhere in between—
not holy,
not hellbound,
just surviving.

My smile’s rehearsed.
My eyes lie like a soldier
trained to say “I’m fine”
while bleeding inside the armor.

The angel tells me,
“You’re more than what hurt you.”
The demon grins,
“Yeah… but look at what you’ve become.”

I carry light,
but it flickers.
I carry shame,
but it sings.
And no one sees the toll—
not the weight behind the laugh,
not the war beneath the skin.

Nights hit hardest.
When silence gets loud
and the angels fall asleep
before the demons do.

Some call it strength.
Some call it endurance.
But I just call it unfinished.

Because I haven’t lost yet—
and I haven’t won.

I’m just here.
Still fighting.
Still haunted.
Still hoping
that maybe tomorrow,
the angel gets up first.

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