Even when the weight drags heavy,
like chains forged from every doubt,
I lift my pen—
not because the storm has passed,
but because I refuse to drown in silence.

The page don’t judge my shadows,
don’t flinch at my broken breath,
it just waits—patient, open,
like a night sky still believing in stars.

I write because I am still here.
Because my ink is proof
that no matter how deep the ache,
there is still a voice inside me,
and it deserves to be heard.