Whispers

Some days, I don’t want to be seen. I just want to be understood.

I was told to choose a future that looked good on paper. I burned that paper.

I didn’t choose psychology. It found me… in the wreckage.

Coding paid my dues. Writing saved my soul.

Every time I stayed silent, a version of me died quietly.

Healing is not linear. It’s spiral stairs in the dark, barefoot.

There’s a war between who I am and who I was told to be.

I don't need the spotlight. I just need a place to whisper and be heard.

These are not blog posts. These are echoes I left in the dark… for whoever needs them.