Afraid of peace
I tried to bury it deep in the past,
lock it away where no light could pass,
thinking if I ignored the ache long enough
it would finally loosen its grasp.
But pain is a patient thing.
It waits in silence,
sharpens its teeth in the dark,
then returns with more fury than before.
And every time it came back,
it clawed harder at my ribs,
until I swore there was a demon living inside me,
begging to be seen,
begging to breathe.
Holding him in was killing me slowly,
but letting him out felt dangerous too.
So I stayed trapped between destruction and survival,
between screaming and silence,
between who I was
and what the world turned me into.
I don’t remember what comfort feels like anymore.
I don’t remember peace
without waiting for it to disappear.
Even happiness feels unfamiliar now,
like something my hands were never meant to hold.
Because what if I let myself heal
just to watch it all collapse again?
What if peace is only temporary,
another fragile thing destined to leave me?
So I stand at the edge of something gentle,
terrified to step forward,
terrified to believe
that maybe I deserve calm after all this chaos.
And still, somewhere beneath the fear,
a quiet voice asks me—
Can I chance it?
Can I risk my broken heart
for the possibility
of finally feeling alive again?