Confessionpoetry cerita

This is a CONFESSION POEM. Dedicated to the man I admired the most.

This isn't poetry for comfort. This is what survival sounds like when it's done bleeding quietly. This is for the people who were called strong because no one ever stayed long enough to help. For the ones who prayed, broke, sinned, healed halfway, and kept moving anyway. For the ones who got judged for how they survived instead of why they had to. I didn't come out clean. I came out alive. And if that makes me a hypocrite to people who never had to choose between drowning and breathing ugly, so be it. This is grief that learned how to stand. Faith that argues with God and still shows up. Love that wants connection but refuses to lose itself again. A heart that's tired of pretending healing is quiet or pretty. If you hear anger in this, good. If you hear truth in this, even better. And if this makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why - because it wasn't written for applause. It was written because I'm still here. Still here. Still breathing. Still standing. Hypocrite.