Still Standing

Still Standing

I'm not perfect
But I’m here,
247,
And maybe that’s the proof,
That purpose doesn’t need permission to exist.

They told me to walk like I got it all together,
But sometimes,
I trip over my own thoughts.
My mind?
A maze.
My emotions?
A storm wearing Sunday clothes.

But I smile.
Because that's what you're supposed to do as a man
Hold it in.
Tuck it deep.
Pray it away.
Fake okay.

But what if I told you…
Sometimes my soul speaks in silence?
Sometimes I’m surrounded and still feel unseen?
Sometimes I stand in the middle of a crowd
And wonder if I belong to anyone — even me?

But maybe —
Just maybe —
This breath in my chest is a sign
That broken doesn’t mean buried.
And hurting doesn’t cancel hope.

If pain could scream,
Mine would've shattered glass a long time,
But healing…
Healing speaks too —
Soft like grace,


See, I’ve asked the questions:
Who am I, when nobody’s clapping?
When the lights goes off and it’s just me and my shadow —
Do I still shine?

And the answer?
Isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it whispers,
"You’re still here.
Still fighting.
Still showing up.”

And that’s enough.
That’s worthy.
That’s purpose in motion.

So no, I ain’t perfect.
But I’m becoming.
And maybe that’s the beauty —
Not in having it all figured out,
But in being brave enough to keep walking anyway.