Somtochukwu Onwusika Poet Narrative

That's How the Cookie Crumbles Pt. 2

They say boys don’t struggle with mirrors,
That they’re made of stone, iron, strength.
But they don’t see the quiet battles
Between them and reflections that never seem enough.

It’s the hunger to grow, to expand, to fill a frame,
To become something bigger than flesh and bone,
Striving for that cut, that lean, that definition,
Because if you’re not built, if you’re not bold,
Do you even count?

He stares at the reflection, unkind, relentless—
Skin stretched over expectations, ribs wrapped in doubt.
If he could just be bigger,
If he could just be “right,”
Then maybe he’d feel whole, maybe he’d belong.

But it never stops, the needing more,
Muscle on muscle, yet never enough.
They call it strength, but what’s strong
About carrying the weight of “not quite there”?
When every inch gained still leaves him hollow,
A statue in the making, chiseled and alone.

That's how the cookie crumbles?

Sometimes we all get stuck
Chasing things we’ll never reach
Trying to fill spaces too vast
For muscle, or pride, or silence to hold

We carry our weights alone
Keeping our fears hidden deep
Waiting for someone
To see past the walls we built.

She told herself she didn’t need anyone.
A fortress built from old wounds
Every brick a memory of hurt
Every wall a promise
To never be seen,
To keep it all hidden away.

But every fortress has cracks.
And one day—
A friend leaned too close
Saw through the armor he wore
And asked the simplest question:
"Are you okay?"

It was a small kindness,
But it opened something
A window, a door—
A reason to trust...
That maybe, just maybe
Not everyone leaves

So she let down the walls, brick by brick
And found that being seen
Wasn’t as terrifying as she thought
That healing might be possible
If she didn’t have to do it alone.

We carry so much in silence...
But maybe healing begins here,
In the spaces between us
Where we see each other’s hurt
And choose to hold it gently

Maybe strength is not in walls,
Or iron, or silence,
But in the choice to trust again,
To show up raw, afraid, and real

So let us hold each other close,
Speak our fears out loud
And in that fragile honesty,
Find that we are not alone

This is what resilience looks like:
Not the way the cookie crumbles.
But hands reaching through the cracks
To lift each other up.

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