May 8
Who am I?πΆ
I am the question I canβt escape,
a voice that changes shape by day and night,
sometimes loud like thunder in my chest,
sometimes soft like fading streetlight.
Who am I?
A name I wear but donβt fully know,
a story still writing itself in ink that wonβt stay still,
pages turning even when Iβm not ready to let go.
Who am I?
The laugh I give when Iβm not okay,
the silence I keep when words wonβt come out right,
the part of me that hopes anyway
even when hope feels too heavy to hold tight.
Who am I?
Maybe Iβm not one answer, one face, one lineβ
maybe Iβm a thousand small pieces learning how to align.
Still becoming.
Still unsure.
Still here.
