I buried alive
the parts of me that trembled
the soft spoken echoes
the fragile wins
the yawning fears that wore my name
Shovel in hand,
I carved a grave in the garden
behind my ribs,
where no one looks
unless they’re lost
The earth was cold.
I walk between light and dark,
half-lost, half-found,
carrying questions heavier
than the answers I seek.
But still
somewhere beneath the weight,
a tiny spark refuses to die.
A little hope whispers,
“Not every night lasts forever.”
So I breathe,
I rise,
I try again.
Someday, I will vanish
under the quiet earth
by the silence of the soil
I will carry with me
the weight of words unspoken
roads I never walked
stars I never reached for
when they were close enough to touch
My regrets will settle beside me
and whispered of what could have been