DameFortress

We went to the optical clinic today to get me a new pair of eyeglasses. I wanted to change both the frame and the lenses—especially the lenses—since I’ve been feeling dizzy and uncomfortable wearing my current glasses lately. I thought maybe my eye grade had changed or increased, so we went to the clinic to find out for sure.

Now, my current eyeglasses still work, but like I said, they’ve started to feel uncomfortable. The color of the frame is fading. The lenses? Scratched—heavily.

But when the doctor checked my eyes, she told me my grade hadn’t changed at all. She was puzzled—why was I experiencing discomfort if my vision grade was the same?

Then it hit us.

It wasn’t my eyes—it was the lenses. The scratches were the problem.

And as I stared at the ceiling, waiting for the new pair to be ready, I had a realization.

Sometimes, we think the present feels unclear or uncomfortable, and we assume something’s wrong with us. That something within us has changed. But maybe the problem isn't us—it’s the lenses we’re using to see the world.

Sometimes, the past leaves scratches—little hurts, memories, regrets—that stay with us longer than we expect. And those scratches blur our vision. They make today feel distorted, even when nothing is wrong with the present.

It’s not always the world that’s unclear. Sometimes, it’s just the scratches.

—dvieloved

The grandest acts are easy to remember,

but it’s the quiet kindness that lingers—

the soft moments I never asked for,

never thought I needed,

until they found me.

They arrive like whispers,

gentle and unannounced,

and yet they fill the empty spaces

I didn’t know were there.

Not loud, not grand—

just honest.

And in their silence,

they comfort me the most.

If, like the sky, I grow darker as time passes by,

Would you still admire me?

Or, like the others, would you hide in your home,

Away from the danger that comes with the beauty of the night?

Why is it so quiet?

The loud music playing in the neighborhood,

The continuous barking sound of dogs,

The unending chatter of gossipers,

The endless debates and rallies of people,

Yet why is it still so quiet?

Was it me who decided to stop listening,

by DameFortress

I'm not proud of who I am.

I will never say again,

I'm more than good enough.

I should have known in myself that,

Nobody will ever love and accept me for who I am.

I would be mistaken if I say,

There's someone who already loves me and really cares for me.

Because if I will think about it,

I have to change myself, for them to like me.

That's why there's no need to believe that,

I can be beautiful in my own way.

Because I know,

I should try to be someone else.

And it would be crazy to think that,

Everything about me is something to be proud of.