Eggshell

I realized how fragile I’ve become, A soul that shivers when the silence hums. In this tough world, I’ve stood my ground, amazed— Not yet devoured by expectation’s blaze. Lessons stray me far from where I’d steer, Paths once so bright now clouded by fear. I’ve had my guard up—steel in my gaze, Boiled, steamed, and fried through endless days. My eggshell’s thin, now starting to crack, No perfect shape, no turning back. I hatched malformed, an unfinished thing, Lacking the minutes to harden my wings. These cracks were patched with hands unseen, But now I know what they might mean. I want to let go. I want to be free. Mother’s chick wanders out to see— To see how the world spins fast and loud, Where only the fit survive the crowd. But the fittest, I think, are those who strive Not just to beat others, but to keep themselves alive. Cracking this eggshell of mine, I will not cower, Nor hide in the shadows hour by hour. No more to follow the blind in line— I've grown feathers now, see? And I've almost learned to fly— and then say goodbye.