14/08/2024
The world’s got its rules,
but they're a crooked game,
stacked chips,
weighted dice.
You stand there,
heart pounding like a war drum,
choking on every word
that won't change a damn thing.
She throws daggers,
a storm you can't weather,
her words cut deep,
and you bleed in silence.
It's not you against her,
it's you against the air,
against the way things are
and the way they’ll always be.
You want to shout,
to claw your way out,
but what good’s a howl
in a soundproof room?
You lose by default,
the game rigged,
the cards marked.
But you stand,
even when you’re crumbling,
for those little eyes
that see you as a giant.
You fight the quiet fight,
not for yourself,
but for the light you hold,
for the pieces of you
that are bigger than the pain.
You’ve been pushed,
shoved to the brink,
but you haven’t fallen.
Not yet.
And maybe that’s the hero in you,
not the one who wins,
but the one who survives,
who stays when the world says go.
You’re still here,
and that’s no small thing.
