The shadows in the corner—

they’re the only ones who’ve seen the struggle,

the sorrow.

They’re the only ones who feel the weight I carry in my chest.

Survival isn’t enough anymore.

Does resilience still matter

when every time I rise,

no one even noticed I fell?

The weight only grows heavier.

I’m the one no one worries about—

because I’m the one who always seems “okay.”

But the shadows see my silent battle.

“You’re the glue in this family.”

Now you understand

why the shadows are the only ones who know me.

I just need a moment to breathe.

But no one sees how long I’ve been suffocating.

Always strong.

Always steady.

Always proving myself.

Privileged? How?

Because I don’t look like my story?

I’ve cared for the very people

who were meant to protect me.

I’ve safeguarded others while no one kept me safe.

I’ve been battered.

Bruised.

Dragged through the mud.

I owe no one my story—

but I’m tired.

Tired of proving myself.

Tired of being told I don’t deserve what I’ve earned.

“It must be nice,” they say.

What’s nice about starting with nothing,

fighting every step

with all the odds against you?

I didn’t get here by accident.

Or by luck.

I clawed my way here.

And I’m still struggling.

I never used my mental health as an excuse.

I didn’t let my past, my pain, or my poverty hold me still either.

I didn’t use the cards I was dealt either. I played the hand.

I kept moving, even when I couldn’t trust my own mind.

I’m still healing

from the things it convinced me to do.

So now that the truth is out—

does it scare you,

or does it just make me inconvenient?