I will make it through
It’s hard to walk straight
when the ground feels tilted,
like every step forward
quietly slides me back.
I tell myself I’ve got it,
then the weight comes again
thick, quiet, pulling at my ankles
like the dark knows my name.
There’s this hole I keep falling into.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just deep enough
to make the sky look far away.
And some days I think,
maybe I should stay here.
It’s familiar.
It doesn’t expect anything from me.
No pressure to shine,
no pretending I’m okay.
Just stillness.
Just sinking.
But something in me
won’t let the dirt close in.
Maybe it’s the things they said
the doubts,
the looks,
the quiet counting me out.
Maybe it’s the part of me
that’s tired
So I claw at the edges.
Slow. Messy.
Not graceful at all.
Because giving up would be easier…
but proving them wrong
means I have to keep going.
And even if I slip,
even if my hands shake,
even if I’m climbing
inch by inch
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