Generations gaze at me through my reflection. How many of their burdens have I been carrying.

I wonder if they feel free, now that they’ve moved on.

Or do they still feel the shackles of their traumas, their fears, their doubts, their limitations. Still chained to this world, through the strands in my DNA.

So many truths glaring at me. Do I have to be the one brave enough to confront them? Ack...

The gnawing in my gut,

The feeling starts to rot.

It seems the more I know,

The less I want to go.

Whenever I get space,

I’m able to breathe with grace.

But every time I go back,

I feel my faith start to crack.

This place is not for me,

Oh how I’d love to flee.

But in today’s society,

I need to act responsibly.

I wonder what I’d do with my life

If I didn’t have to worry with strife.

Tomorro...

my father called me too soft.

as though it were an insult.

as though I didn’t fight nail, tooth and claw

to maintain that softness.

as though I didn’t raise a hell of armies

to guard my beating, bleeding heart.

my father called me too soft.

as though it were a weakness.

a deficiency.

a lack of action.

an inability to be forceful and brutal.

as though it didn’t take every ounce of strength

to...

I looked at the options in front of me. The choice I had to make. My confidence draped over me like armour—untested, unprepared.

Conform… or trust.

Colour drained from the world through conformity. I didn’t want to lose myself, I didn’t want to lose what made me special.

My steps faltered, the honesty of my thoughts untethering me from the safety promised.

Why had everyone else done it? Di...