Guns and bullets, blood and guts
Screams and knives, fists and shoves
Steel and Iron, mayhem and riots, I’m
Unbreakable, unbendable, unbeatable,
Nothings ever gonna hold me down
~
I’ve walked for days, seen highs, lived lows
Thought I wasn’t gonna make it, said I’d
Give up, then picked myself up, dusted off my clothes
Stood up, turned around, and said bring it all again, cuz I’m
Grateful for my worst days
-
I’m legendary in my head, philosophies follow me
Around my feet tripping world in search of Zen
I’ve got answers to questions only I’m asking
See me today, see me tomorrow, it’s all the same
The secret of life is finding balance
~
Headlines, news, live tv, the only truth that matters
Is the one I create…not pretend, not fake
Keep the masks in the store, I’m not selling who I am
Just showing my ugly to the world, to see how they deal
Be who you really are
~
When I’m gone, when they remember the dance I made
Will they sing for me, will they shout, pound their fists down
Turn their eyes to heaven and scream at the sky
Or will they shake their heads and
Remember the smiles, the laughs, the small things that made me unique
I’m legendary in my head, philosophies follow me
Around my feet tripping world in search of Zen
I’ve got answers to questions only I’m asking
See me today, see me tomorrow, it’s all the same
The secret of life is finding balance
~
Headlines, news, live TV, the only truth that matters
Is the one I create… not pretend, not fake
Keep the masks in the store, I’m not selling who I am
Just showing my ugly to the world, to see how they deal
Be who you really are
~
When I’m gone, when they remember the dance I made
Will they sing for me, will they shout, pound their fists down
Turn their eyes to heaven and scream at the sky
Or will they shake their heads and
Remember the smiles, the laughs, the small things that made me unique
I’ve tasted silence louder than any war cry
Felt loneliness grip tighter than chains ever could
Stared at my reflection until I forgot who it was
Only to rediscover myself in the pain I once ran from
Every scar I carry is a signature of survival
~
There’s a rhythm in my chaos, a beat beneath the madness
Even my shadows know how to move with pride
I’m not broken—I’m reforged in the heat of every storm
A walking contradiction, breathing proof that
You can be soft and steel at the same time
People talk, people twist, people tear
But my name is more than what their mouths can carry
I’m not here to please, to bow, or blend
I came to carve space, to exist like fire does—
Unapologetic, wild, and needed
Some of us weren’t made to fit in—we were made to ignite
~
I’ve loved with a heart wide open, bleeding sometimes
I’ve trusted snakes in human skin, learned slow
But I learned—oh, I learned
Now I guard my peace like treasure
Not every hand deserves to hold your soul
In the stillness of the night, I talk to myself
I remind me of all I’ve survived, all I’ve endured
And I laugh—because damn, I’m still here
Still standing, still shouting, still dreaming
Resilience isn't loud, sometimes it whispers, “one more day.”
~
So let them write my story in crooked ink
Let them miss the nuance, misquote my pain
I’ll write my own pages, bleed truth into each line
And if they read me wrong, that’s on them
I never needed to be understood—just to be real
Let the winds howl, let the skies crack open
Let every loss turn into legend, every bruise into a lesson
I’ve made a home inside the chaos
Hung pictures on the walls of my past
And called it sacred, called it mine
There’s beauty in owning your broken
~
And when I finally fade, when my voice is gone
Let them find echoes of me in late-night talks
In fearless choices, in laughter too loud
In someone who stood up when others sat down
Legacy isn’t fame—it’s impact, it’s soul prints
So here I am, wild and weary, whole and hurt
Telling my truth without filters or gloss
Because someone out there needs to hear it
To know they’re not alone, not lost
We rise, not to be perfect—but to be real
~
This is my roar, my prayer, my mark
I may fall, but I rise again
Bleeding, smiling, screaming—again and again
Because I was made for this
Made to fight, made to feel, made to live loud
About the Creator
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Looking back: 2025 was a beast
It's difficult to know how to start this. I've suggested that it's been a tough one from my title and in many ways, it has; however, there is an argument that it's not been that extraordinary at all, merely this wonderful thing we call "life" with all its climaxes and pitfalls.
By Rachel Deeming21 days ago in Motivation
“One Day, I Realized Nobody Was Coming to Save Me—So I Saved Myself”
For the longest time, I believed my life was simply paused. Not broken. Not finished. Just waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the right person. Waiting for something—anything—to arrive and change everything. I didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for, but I was sure it would come. People always said things like “It’ll get better” or “Your time will come”, and I clung to those words like promises written in invisible ink. I believed that if I endured long enough, life would eventually reward my patience. So I waited. I waited quietly, because I didn’t want to be a burden. I waited politely, because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I waited silently, because I didn’t even know how to explain what was wrong. From the outside, my life looked acceptable. I functioned. I showed up. I smiled when it was expected of me. I laughed at jokes that didn’t reach my heart. I answered “I’m fine” so often that it started to feel like muscle memory. But inside, something was eroding. Every day felt heavier than the last, like I was carrying a weight that kept growing while no one was looking. I woke up tired, went to bed tired, and spent the hours in between pretending I wasn’t. There was a quiet exhaustion that sleep couldn’t touch—a tiredness that came from constantly hoping for relief that never arrived. I thought suffering had to be loud to be real. I thought pain needed witnesses to matter. Mine had neither. There was no dramatic breaking point, no single moment when everything fell apart. Instead, it unraveled slowly. Almost gently. Like a thread pulled so gradually you don’t notice the fabric weakening until it’s too late. I kept telling myself, Just hold on a little longer. Surely someone would notice. Surely someone would step in. Surely life wouldn’t let me keep feeling this way forever. But life did. And then one day—an ordinary day that didn’t announce its importance—I realized something that changed everything. Nobody was coming. That realization didn’t arrive with clarity or relief. It arrived like grief. Heavy. Sharp. Unforgiving. I remember sitting alone, staring at nothing in particular, and feeling the truth settle into my bones. There would be no rescue. No sudden turning point delivered by someone else’s effort. No moment where everything magically aligned and lifted me out of my own life. It wasn’t that people didn’t care. It was that everyone was busy surviving their own storms. I had been waiting for someone to save me from a life that only I was living. And for a while, that realization shattered me. I felt abandoned by the world, betrayed by hope itself. I questioned every prayer I had whispered into the dark, every moment I had chosen patience over action. I wondered if I had misunderstood life completely—if the promises I believed in were never meant for people like me. I mourned the version of myself who thought endurance alone was enough. There is a special kind of loneliness that comes from realizing your pain is invisible. That no matter how heavy it feels to you, the world keeps moving at the same pace. Bills still need to be paid. Responsibilities still demand attention. Smiles are still expected. So I kept going. But something inside me had cracked open. Once you see the truth, you can’t unsee it. And the truth was this: waiting had become my hiding place. Hope, without action, had become an excuse to stay small. I had been standing still, convincing myself that stillness was strength. It wasn’t. Saving myself didn’t begin with confidence. It began with fear. Fear of staying the same. Fear of waking up ten years later in the same emotional place. Fear of realizing that I had wasted my own life waiting for permission to live it. I didn’t suddenly become brave. I became tired of being helpless. The first steps were almost embarrassing in their simplicity. There was nothing poetic about them. No montage-worthy transformation. Just small decisions that felt enormous at the time. Getting out of bed even when my body begged me not to. Choosing one task, then another, then another. Letting myself admit—quietly—that I was not okay. Some days, saving myself meant setting boundaries that made other people uncomfortable. I learned how often my exhaustion came from overextending myself to earn love, approval, or relevance. Saying no felt selfish at first. It felt wrong. But it also felt like oxygen. Other days, saving myself meant sitting alone with my feelings instead of numbing them. No distractions. No pretending. Just honesty. That was harder than any physical effort I had ever made. Facing your own thoughts can feel like standing in front of a mirror that refuses to lie. I began to understand something no one had taught me: healing is not linear, and it is rarely beautiful. It’s messy. Inconsistent. Frustrating. Some days feel like progress, others feel like failure. But both are part of the same road. There were days I missed the comfort of waiting. Waiting meant responsibility belonged to someone else. Taking control meant accepting that my life—every imperfect part of it—was in my hands. That was terrifying. But it was also freeing. As I slowly rebuilt myself, I noticed something else. Not everyone wanted to walk with me into this new version of myself. Some people preferred the me who needed saving. The me who was easier to control, easier to dismiss, easier to define. Outgrowing people hurts. Outgrowing places hurts. Outgrowing old versions of yourself hurts most of all. But staying the same hurts longer. I lost connections I thought were permanent. I stepped away from spaces that no longer fit who I was becoming. Loneliness returned—but this time, it was different. This loneliness felt honest. It didn’t come from abandonment; it came from alignment. I learned that being alone while growing is far healthier than being surrounded while shrinking. Strength, I discovered, isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t demand recognition. Strength shows up quietly, day after day, in the choices you make when no one is watching. It shows up when you keep going even though the results are slow. When you forgive yourself for falling back into old habits. When you choose patience with yourself instead of punishment. There were setbacks—many of them. I stumbled. I doubted myself. I wondered if I was doing everything wrong. But this time, I didn’t collapse and wait for someone else to fix the damage. I picked myself up. Again and again. And something unexpected happened as I kept choosing myself: the world didn’t suddenly become easier, but I became stronger. Problems that once felt unbearable became manageable. Pain that once consumed me became something I could sit with without losing myself. I stopped asking, Why is this happening to me? I started asking, What can I do with what’s happening? That question changed everything. Today, my life is not perfect. I still have days when old fears resurface. I still feel tired sometimes. I still wish things were easier. But I no longer wait for rescue. I trust myself now. I trust that even if things fall apart, I will be there to put them back together. I trust that my worth doesn’t depend on who shows up for me. I trust that I am capable of building a life that feels like my own. And maybe the most important thing I’ve learned is this: realizing nobody is coming to save you is not a sentence. It’s an invitation. An invitation to stop shrinking. An invitation to take responsibility for your healing. An invitation to become the person you’ve been waiting for. If you’re reading this and you feel stuck—if you feel invisible, exhausted, or quietly breaking—I want you to know this: you are not weak for waiting. You were doing the best you could with what you knew. But you don’t have to wait anymore. Sometimes, saving yourself doesn’t mean changing everything. It means choosing yourself once—then choosing yourself again tomorrow. And one day, you’ll look back and realize that the moment nobody came was the moment your life truly began.Start writing...
By Ihtisham Ulhaq5 days ago in Motivation
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