Peace—
I've always longed for it,
to sit under painted skies,
to watch sunsets melt into sunrises.
To laugh,
to breathe,
with no worries pulling at the seams of my soul.
But how?
How can I find peace
when life is a relentless whisper in my ear?
"Pay your bills,
cook your meals,
take your pills just to feel—
just to feel something,
anything,
and yet nothing at all."
See, I don't hate much in this world,
but if there's one thing,
if there's one thing I'd throw into the void,
it's this.
This illness,
this shadow,
this borderline that keeps me trapped on the edge.
I hate that I depend on these tiny capsules,
lifelines that barely keep me afloat.
I'm young,
we're all young,
we should be out there—
chasing dreams,
dancing through fleeting days,
drinking in the beauty of a world
that is cruel enough to give us time
and cruel enough to take it away.
But how?
Tell me,
what's the secret?
Because I'm tired of failing,
tired of falling.
And yes, I get back up,
I scrape the dirt from my knees,
shake the dust from my palms,
and I try again.
But every time,
every time it feels heavier—
the weight of trying,
of hoping,
of believing there's more than this.
So when the grim reaper comes for me,
when my time finally runs out,
let him see.
Let him see the battle scars,
the cracked hands that clawed through the dark,
the heart that gave everything it had—
and more.
Let him see that I tried,
that I fought.
And maybe,
just maybe,
he'll understand.