Sonder

This isn’t just a sonnet — it’s a declaration of humanism.

I’ve been fighting through my fears, real and unseen.

Somedays, on my knees, head bowed, eyes closed, I slay demons in the Spirit; removing every shackle binding me, pushing back on every oppressive force that wants to see me wading in a sea of PTSD, anxiety, and depression.

Other days, I wear the outfit I love, but society and my insecurities tell me not to.

Then there are days when I go to the karaoke bar and sing my heart out, not caring if it's on key or off, just pouring out my emotions, drowning out every voice that tells me not to sing or choose that song.

There are nights when regret clouds out sleep and mornings when it’s a struggle to get out of bed, but I do it anyway, moving past doubt and intrusive whispers that “it’s all vain, it’ll always be like this.”

Every so often, I cry without relenting till my eyes are puffy and my head aches.

And from time to time, I lay in bed wondering, how did I get here?

Now and then, I say I’m done and throw up my hands, but still push on, because if I give up here, I’ll never see brighter days.

I’ve been in love, I’ve been in hate, I’ve known peace, and felt the winds of chaos, sometimes all in the same day, boy, what a whirlwind, not sure some days if I’ll ride the air like a ballerina or twist into a cyclone, wrecking everything in my path, on those days I stay in. But there have been times, I’ll admit —when the pressure rose so high I’d crack the sky like lightning, roar like thunder, become the storm that asked no permission, the wildfire that burned without prejudice.

But as I kept living — kept rising, day after day —

whether with a smile, a frown, or a pensive glare,

I began to see: I’m just one of many.

Everyone is fighting —

through what’s seen and unseen,

the real and the imagined.

To all you beautiful souls on this planet —

if you ever find yourself reading this,

my humble and compassionate charge to you is this:

Carry on.

Not flawless, but fierce.

Not unscarred, but unbroken.

One foot, then the next.

Forward — always forward.