Written By Emotions

May Death greets me as A man

I have slipped through days like shadows,quietly undone,weeping not from weakness,

but from holding in storms
for far too long.
Each breath feels borrowed,
each smile, rehearsed—
the world sees a face,
but never the trembling underneath.
I fear the day
when the dam breaks
not in the silence of my room,
but before a crowd—
and my soul spills
for all to see,
unmasked,
uninvited.
I don't want pity.
I want presence.
I want a man—
not to save me,
but to stand beside me
as I gather my shattered pieces,
quietly,
carefully,
unapologetically.
But if he never comes...
then let Death come instead.
And may He be a man—
not cruel, but kind.
Not with scythe or silence,
but with open arms
and warmth I never knew.
I romanticize Him,
call Him He,
because maybe then
He'll be soft enough
to hold all of me
without breaking,
without asking me to be less.
I am tired.
So tired.
So if Death arrives,
I hope He doesn't rush—
but kneels beside me,
gently,
and whispers,
"I'm sorry I took so long."
And if that's the way I go—
then let it be known,
I didn't fall,
I surrendered—
not to weakness,
but to peace
I could never find
in life.