I Push On

Strong, though softened by stillness. Handsome with no hunger for approval. My mind is sharp, yet I resist its blade, choosing silence over the storm of thought. I feel deeply—but wear a mask of numbness. I dream, but only in fiction’s fragile glow. I ache and find warmth within the wound. I wrestle with the world, then walk away too soon. I burn with rage, craving to be heard. I am lost—yet somehow know the map by heart. I hear the whispers of truth but would rather roar. I am ordered in chaos, my maze its own blueprint. I hope while my mind floats in empty skies. I extend a hand but pull it back in silence. I grasp the weight of the unseen, afraid, yet drawn to the fire like a moth. I empathize from shadows drenched in ego. I am real—but fragments echo through the hollow. My needs are met, yet I starve within. I could touch the stars, but none called my name. The world offers infinity—but I feel caged by my skin. I believe—but faith slips through my clenched fist. I love with oceans of depth, but it remains locked in ice. I am bold, but fear the cliff's edge. A brilliant design—crafted with divine imperfection. A masterpiece chipped, scratched, and sacred, searching for meaning in a fog of noise. My sail, trembling and torn, yet still catching the wind. And through it all, I push on.