14.04.2025
There was a time I used to sit with this weird heaviness in my chest, just wondering,
Why is my plate empty?
Why does it feel like everyone else’s is overflowing, full of options, things they didn’t even have to work for?
And there I was, still trying to carve out the plate,
still struggling to fill it up,
still doing all the hard work just to get to the part where they started from.
When life seems to only understand struggle,
you stop waiting for mercy.
You stop dreaming of shortcuts.
You just learn to accept that this,
endless battle, is all you have.
So, I started telling myself, “It is what it is.”
A mantra that feels like a bandage,
but still leaves the wound open.
Even after pouring my soul into every day,
my time, my energy, my sanity,
I still felt like I was behind.
That emptiness?
It tore me apart.
It was the quiet, cruel certainty that no matter how hard I tried,
I was always a step too late.
For a long time,
I believed I was a failure.
I wore that label,
that heavy, suffocating label,
like it was the truth of who I was.
But I didn’t see how cruel that was,
how much that label erased the battles I had fought,
the nights I stayed awake,
fighting the urge to give up,
even when everything in me screamed to stop.
I didn’t see the strength in my struggle.
I only saw the distance between where I was and where I thought I should be.
I may not have it all figured out,
but I’m done letting my own voice tell me I’m not enough.
I won’t be the one to choke out my own light anymore.
It’s not me vs them anymore.
It’s just me…
and the girl who never stopped fighting,
even when the world told her to quit.
It’s the version of me who kept walking,
even when the weight of my own dreams crushed me.
Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Not mine.
Not yours.
We’re just running a little late.
Not because we didn’t work hard enough,
but because we never had access to the early train.
That train dropped others off three stations ahead,
while we had to walk… barefoot, tired, carrying the weight of more than just dreams.
We didn’t get a head start.
We didn’t have the luxury of choosing.
We walked on the lane that kept food on the table.
We carved out paths where none existed,
laying down every brick ourselves.
So no, we didn’t make it yet.
But we will.
And when we do, it won’t be because the road was easy,
it’ll be because we built it from nothing.
The destination doesn’t lose its meaning just because the journey took longer!
This poem feels so personal. We’re all in the same boat, trying to quiet that inner voice that tells us we’re not enough. And this piece? It hit like one of those tears that never roll down your face but stay behind, just to remind you of everything you’ve carried. It’s raw, real, and achingly human, the kind of poem that aches quietly and completely.
I love the last line a little too much. It speaks of something in the future, something we haven’t reached yet, but something that still keeps us going. 'When I finally reach the shore, I can proudly say, it's ME, it's ME and nothing else, I've built it from scratch, no miracles.' There’s hope in it. I loved how you summed up the ending. This poem breaks you in all the right places, but somehow, in the end, you send everyone home with a tight hug and a bright smile.
Hope we all get better soon Pri ✌🏻