Will I ever rise?
Or have I fallen too far?
The anxiety is shadowed by paranoia.
Peacekeeping is a coward’s refuge.
Acceptance is the shackle I’ve chosen.

I’m smothered by a cliché:
“You always have a choice.”
Do I?
When empathy is the liquid in my veins?
When the price of self-healing is self-betrayal?

I plant seeds that grow ugly.
I bleed out exhaustion to cradle beauty
Still, more is demanded of me.
To whom can I turn?
The God I deliberately betray?
Proud prayers wrapped in a desperate plea.
A sinner’s remorse:
The rejection of one necessary answer.

I’ve learned not to rely on people.
For their narrow gaze limits true value.
Their minds cling to fabrications.
Their hearts only appreciate offerings
beneficial to their immediate desires.
My pain is mine alone to nurse.
My worth is measured in productivity.
Not presence.
Not humanity.

I deserve this.
Not the life I wanted,
just the one I permitted.
By standing still.
By letting the fear of the unknown
dictate the direction for the unwilling.
Carelessly, I called this “fate.”

A somber reality startles me.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t be better.
I didn’t believe I should be.
I fed my doubt,
Watered my shame.
Now all that’s left is this:
Harvesting regret,
as if it were the only crop I could grow.