This Is Probably About Someone Else
You are not cracked
You are listening.
The ache you call doubt
Is a compass that never learned to sleep.
You replay moments
Not to bleed
But to measure the space you took up
And whether it bruised anyone else.
That is not weakness.
That is weight.
You feel tired
Because you carry the weather of rooms.
You feel guilty
Because you believe harm matters
Even when it’s invisible.
If the world calls you soft
It’s because you refused to harden
Where others learned to disappear
Inside themselves.
Hear this—
The cruel do not audit their hearts.
They do not lose sleep over echoes.
They do not ask, “Was I kind enough?”
You do.
That is the evidence.
So stop treating your tenderness
Like a defect
When it is the proof
That something in you stayed alive.
You are not failing at being human.
You are what survived it.
Let that stand.






























































































