The Sadness With The Light Of Hope

Prisoner of the Paradise

I was an introvert,
Cradled in silence,
At peace in my solitude,
Until life yanked me out,
Thrusting me into a world
Where my quiet was a burden.

I learned quickly—
People need comfort to stay,
And so I became a giver.
I reshaped my essence,
Bending and breaking,
To build a space
Where others could feel whole.

Some called me kind,
Thanked me for my smallest efforts.
Others didn’t even notice.
But their blindness didn’t matter—
I poured myself out,
Brick by brick,
Creating a paradise for them to laugh,
To breathe,
To belong.

Years blurred into each other,
And the paradise was complete.
It was everything they wanted—
A symphony of joy,
A carousel of wonder.
But somewhere within,
I stood apart.
A ghost.
A hollow figure in my own creation.

I didn’t understand.
Why was my chest so heavy?
Why did the laughter sting?
What was this gnawing ache
That followed me like a shadow?
I buried the questions.
They were unimportant.
The show had to go on.

So I kept building.
I smiled wider,
I laughed louder,
I gave more of myself,
Piece by piece,
Until there was almost nothing left.

But that feeling—
It clawed at my heart,
Wrapped around my throat,
And refused to let go.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t escape.

Finally, I turned inward,
Desperate to understand.
And in the stillness,
The truth surfaced.

I had spent my life
Creating comfort for others,
Sacrificing my own.
I had given everything
To build a paradise
That I could never call home.

Now the paradise stands,
Radiant for them,
But I am its prisoner.
My hands, the ones that built it,
Are calloused and broken.
My heart, the one that dreamed it,
Is empty.

This paradise isn’t mine.
It never was.
And though they smile,
Though they laugh,
I stand in the ruins of myself—
A soul suffocated
By the beauty I created.