In Shadow of Becoming, a teenager stands at the crossroads of adolescence and adulthood, caught in a whirlwind of doubt and discovery. As they grapple with the complexities of growing up, they question everything they once believed-faith, self-worth...
Words I speak, words I write, A channel of thoughts, my guiding light. Each syllable carries what I cannot say, A map of my heart, a path, a way. Through spoken tones or written ink, I unravel the thoughts I dare to think. For words are the vessels where I reside, A secret self, no longer denied.
The words I write are more than art, They're fragments of my fragile heart. With every sentence, I find release, A fleeting moment of quiet peace. In the solitude of pen and page, I am free from the mind's dark cage. For words transform what I can't define, Into something real, something mine.
Yet words can wound as much as mend, A weapon, a shield, a means to defend. A sword that cuts, a balm that heals, The duality of the power it wields. I've seen words crumble what I hold dear, And build bridges to what I fear. With words, I'm strong; with words, I break, A delicate balance I cannot forsake.
The words I speak may not be loud, But they echo clear in the silent crowd. They whisper truths, they sing my pain, A quiet anthem in life's refrain. Through words, I let the world peek, Into the depths of what I seek. They are my courage, my battle cry, A testament to the question, "Why?"
There's a freedom in this fragile art, A way to share the core of my heart. Even when fear grips my voice tight, I write my way into the light. Each letter, a step towards being whole, Each phrase, a fragment of my soul. For the words I choose are never by chance, They are the rhythm of my dance.
Words connect, they tether, they bind, To a world that often feels unkind. They bridge the gap between me and you, A thread of meaning woven through. Though I may stumble, though I may fall, Words are my answer to it all. Through them, I scream, I weep, I sing, And let the world see everything.
Sometimes my words come sharp and cold, A defense to a story left untold. But even then, they carry truth, A piece of my ever-evolving youth. They might not please, they might offend, But they are mine, and I won't pretend. Through words, I am both strong and weak, And that's the paradox I seek.
Even when the world does not hear, Words are my solace, my armor, my spear. They are the reason I face the day, The way I keep my fears at bay. For in them lies a quiet power, A light that burns through every hour. I may be silent, but I'm not unseen, My words reveal what I truly mean.
Words are the voice I often lack, When life's burdens weigh on my back. They speak for me when I cannot, A connection to what the world forgot. Though fleeting, they leave a mark, A spark of light in the endless dark. With them, I rise, with them, I fall, But through it all, they say it all.
In words, I've found a sense of peace, A fleeting moment where doubts cease. Even if I falter, even if I fail, Words remain my enduring trail. A path to follow, a guide to see, A map of who I'm meant to be. They carry me through the storm and fire, A manifestation of my desire.
So even if it's through words alone, I've carved a life that feels like my own. They are my truth, my silent scream, The essence of my wildest dream. And though they may not mean much to some, For me, they're a beat, a steady drum. Through words, I exist, through words, I am free, And that is enough to simply be me.
Even when the world dismisses their worth, I hold to my words, my anchor, my birth. For in them lies a reflection of me, A paradox of who I strive to be. Through words, I am seen, though only a part, They are the closest thing to my heart. And as long as I write, I'll find my place, In this fleeting, fragile, word-filled space.
#ToWriteorToBeDeadSilent
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