Fragments of My Verse

The world is already loud with borrowed lines, with futures planned before I learned my own signs. They point at roads worn smooth by fear and pride, call them “safe,” and ask me to fall in line. I’ve walked with questions heavy in my chest, measured by answers I could never guess. I’ve tried to be enough, to not disappoint, even when my heart pulled past the chosen point. I am not careless,I am just unsure, tired of pretending certainty is pure. Some dreams were stitched by hands that weren’t my own, some nights I wondered who I’d be alone. If life is a poem, vast and wide, then mine won’t exist just to justify. It may hesitate, pause, rewrite, delay, but it will be honest in the words I say. I’ll write in endurance, in staying awake, in choosing myself despite every ache. In paths I question, in courage I find, in listening closely to my quiet mind. And when the pages turn, as they always do, and the world asks gently what I lived through, I hope my verse,though tired and small; says I survived, I searched, I stayed true through it all.