THE KIND OF PAIN I LEARNED TO CARRY
My father taught me how to sleep
with my eyes open—
wide enough to see the world,
wide enough to feel its weight
pressing on my bones.
Being an orphan was never the wound…
people made it sting.
They made it feel like my whole world
was falling apart
just because one person was missing.
I was a victim
of someone else’s story,
someone else’s fate—
but I’m writing mine now,
in defiance and in glory.
The scars they left on me,
I’m turning into art.
The fire they lit in me,
I’m using to light my heart.
Even healers become villains
when pain keeps echoing inside them.
But the deepest kind of pain
is the one you hide—
not to protect yourself,
but to protect others
from witnessing
just how much it has destroyed you.
I survived the kind of silence
that presses into your bones—
the kind that tastes like rejection,
the kind you choke on
and think you might die from.
I’ve walked through hell
and somehow kept getting up.
I’ve been vulnerable,
broken,
strong,
and healing
all at the same time.
I hated this year…
but damn, I’m proud of myself
for surviving it.
I hope my mom never ends a day
thinking she failed me—
because I could write a whole book
about the countless ways
she has been extraordinary
in my life.
2025 didn’t go how I planned.
I thought this would be my year—
but instead, it taught me
how heavy life can really feel.
I tried hard this year.
To be better.
To do better.
To hold it all together.
And still—
nothing felt enough.
I’m not the same person
I was in January.
I’m tired, yes.
Broken, in pieces.
But I’m still here.
And maybe…
for now…
that is enough
Copyright © Candy heartpen | Year Posted 2026
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