poems

dean winchester and me

he stands with the weight of the world, 
shoulders heavy, eyes haunted by battles 
he never asked to fight. 
he wears a mask of bravado, 
a smile that never quite reaches his eyes, 
because he's the strong one, the protector, 
the one who had to grow up too soon.

he was just a boy when the world demanded 
he become more, 
told to carry burdens that weren't his to bear, 
taught to hide his pain behind a wall of jokes 
and bravado, 
because showing weakness wasn't an option.

there's a mirror i stand in front of, 
and i see him staring back at me— 
the reflection of someone 
who's learned to keep everything inside, 
a fortress of solitude built brick by brick, 
never letting anyone in too close, 
not even himself.

i feel the ache in his soul, 
the weariness that comes from years 
of pretending everything's fine, 
when the truth is, he's been holding on by a thread, 
scratching at the surface of a life 
he never got to choose.

in him, i see pieces of myself— 
the same fear of vulnerability, 
the same need to protect those i love, 
even at the cost of my own peace. 
he's the older child, the one who learned 
to put others first, 
because there was no other way.

he stands in front of me, 
the man in the mirror, 
and i wonder if he sees me too— 
if he knows that i understand, 
that the scars he hides are etched 
on my own heart as well.

we are one and the same, 
two souls intertwined by fate, 
both searching for a way 
to carry on 
without breaking under the weight.