R & S
My life was never meant to be soft.
From the beginning, there was something carved into me that did not belong to ordinary living. While others chased comfort, love, and the promise of a quiet future, I walked a different road, one lined with fire, loss, and lessons that came too early and too hard.
I did not understand it then.
I only knew that I was always fighting.
Fighting to be seen.
Fighting to be understood.
Fighting battles that no one else could see but that lived inside my chest like a storm that never rested.
There were moments I thought I was broken too intense, too emotional, too much for a world that seemed to reward silence and simplicity. I watched people move through life with ease, and I wondered why mine felt like survival when theirs looked like living.
But warriors are not born into peace.
They are forged in it’s absence.
Every heartbreak, every betrayal, every moment I bent myself just to be chosen, it was shaping something in me I couldn’t yet name. I learned how to read people before they spoke. I learned how to feel what others hid. I learned how to step into chaos and somehow still stand.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I had to.
Somewhere along the way, I began to understand, my life was never meant to be about me in the way I thought it should be. The rewards I searched for here… they were never promised here.
They were written somewhere higher.
Eternal. Untouchable. Waiting.
And that realization did not come as comfort at first.
It came as grief.
Because it meant accepting that this life—this temporary, aching, beautiful struggle, was not designed to always give back what I poured into it. It meant understanding that love would not always meet me where I stood. That people would take, misunderstand, walk away… and I would still be called to remain open.
Still be called to love.
Still be called to rise.
I began to see the pattern.
Every person who crossed my path carried something, pain, insecurity, ego, wounds they refused to face. And somehow, without trying, I became the mirror they couldn’t ignore.
I triggered them.
Not out of malice, but truth.
Because truth has a way of unsettling what is built on illusion.
There were times I fought for their attention, bent myself to reach them, tried to break through their walls so they could see what I saw, peace, healing, something deeper than the surface they clung to.
I thought it was my responsibility.
I thought if I just tried harder, loved deeper, endured longer… they would wake up.
But not everyone is meant to awaken because of you.
And not every battle is yours to fight.
That lesson came slowly… and it came painfully.
Because for so long, I believed my purpose was to save them.
To guide them.
To heal them.
And while there is truth in who I am, someone who feels deeply, who sees beyond the surface, who carries a presence that shifts others, I had to learn the hardest truth of all:
Even healers must learn to stop bleeding for people who refuse to see their own wounds.
Even warriors must lay their armor down.
Even those who feel “chosen” must remember they are still human.
I was never meant to break myself trying to fix others.
I was meant to become whole.
And in that wholeness, I no longer have to chase, convince, or fight to be understood.
The ones meant to find peace will recognize it.
The ones not ready will resist it.
And neither outcome defines me.
My life was not a punishment.
It was preparation.
Not to lose myself in others
but to finally come home to myself.
My life still has purpose, Gods will
I carry in every corner.
it was far greater than you can see.
You can’t understand,
why I still stand,
I’m just defeated.
Maybe…
you should,
take my hand.