And Still, I fold

I know I am deserving of soft mornings

and open doors of joy that stays, not just brushes past.

I know I carry a heart made of gold,

even when the world seems blind to its shine.

I’ve learned that storms come without permission,

and circumstance is not the same as character.

I remind myself gently, daily

that pain is not identity, and survival is not shame.

But still,

there are nights when the weight feels louder than the truth.

Still,

I forget how to hold myself without trembling.

Still, I fold

not because I’m weak,

but because even gold bends under pressure.