Still Here, Somehow
They say twenty-eight is still young, still light,
But they don’t see ghosts that haunt me at night.
They don’t feel the weight that sits in my chest,
Or how grief don’t fade—it just learns how to rest.
I buried my brothers, piece by piece,
Watched laughter fade and silence increase.
Then life took more with a crueler aim,
My babies… and nothing’s been the same.
Two tiny souls, just four and two,
The world kept spinning,but mine split in two.
People say “time heals,” like that’s enough,
But time just taught me how to act tough.
They don’t know the nights I wanted to go,
Where breathing felt like the cruelest blow.
I didn’t just try—I crossed that line,
Twice felt death whisper, “You could be mine.”
Flatline silence… then dragged back through,
A second chance I never asked to do.
Woke up to tubes and a borrowed breath,
Halfway between life and unfinished death.
So now I’m here, but I don’t know why,
Just counting days I didn’t die.
They say there’s purpose, some grand design,
But it feels like I’m just passing time.
And somewhere deep in the wreck of me,
There’s a question I hate—why keep me?
If all I do is take up space,
And bring this weight into every place.
I try to love, but I feel too much,
Turn everything heavy with just one touch.
Like I’m made of loss, like I’m made of ache,
Like I’m more than anyone should have to take.
But still… I’m here, though I don’t belong,
A quiet echo, a broken song.
Not healed, not whole, not even okay,
Just someone who didn’t fade away.
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