Seeking. Paths Unknown

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I wasn’t taught how to want more.
I was taught how to not ask.
To sit in silence.
To smile through it.
To be grateful for scraps
and call it a blessing.

Most of the people who raised me
only ever survived.
So dreaming felt selfish.
Wanting peace felt dramatic.
And hurting?
That was just called life.

I got used to pretending I was okay.
To carrying things that were too heavy for me
because no one else was coming to help.
Because I didn’t want to be a burden.
Because I was always the strong one, right?

No one tells you
that strength, when built from trauma,
becomes a cage.
You keep wearing it
even when it’s cutting into your skin.

Some days I still wake up in fight mode
and I don’t even know who I’m fighting.
Myself?
The people who hurt me?
The world that never stopped to ask
what I needed?

I walk with ghosts.
Memories that don't leave.
Mistakes that still sting.
Versions of me I buried
because they were too soft to survive
what I went through.

I’m not seeking peace.
I’m seeking relief.
I’m seeking proof
that all the breaking I did
wasn’t for nothing.

I don’t want to just exist
in someone else’s idea of okay.
I want to build something
from the bones of what tried to destroy me.
I want to scream until I feel heard.
I want to cry without apologizing.
I want to be messy and still deserve love.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
But I know I can’t keep doing this—
smiling while I drown.
Laughing through the ache.
Pretending I’m fine
just to make other people comfortable.

This world doesn’t hand you healing.
You have to fight for every inch of it.
Sometimes with tears.
Sometimes with rage.
Sometimes with nothing but your breath
and your will to not go back.

So no—
I don’t have peace yet.
I don’t have clarity.
But I do have rage that remembers.
And that’s enough to keep moving.

I’m still seeking.
Still bleeding.
Still standing.
The path?
Unknown.
But it’s mine now.
And I’m not giving it back.


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