some days
the mind is a house
with flickering lights
rooms you avoid
because they echo too loudly
you smile in the doorway
tell others you’re fine
while the ceiling drips
old fears you never fixed

thoughts pace
like restless ghosts at 3 a.m.
rattling memories
that refuse to be ignored

you learn that strength
is not the armor you wear
but the calm you hold
when no one is watching

healing isn’t a sunrise
that sweeps away the night
it’s learning the dark has furniture

you bruise
you rest
you try again tomorrow

some nights
the darkness loosens its grip
not to vanish
just enough to let you breathe

you don’t defeat the quiet
you live with it
and that
somehow
is light