Why Me

Why me?

Out of all the souls wandering this earth,

why was I the one

chosen to carry this weight?

Why must my heart be a battlefield,

scarred by wars

I never asked to fight?

Why must my silence

be mistaken for strength,

my tears hidden

like secrets too shameful to speak?

Why me,

to love so deeply,

only to be left with hollow echoes

where laughter once lived?

Why me,

to dream so boldly,

only to wake in ruins?

I ask the stars,

but they blink without answers.

I ask the night,

but it only deepens its darkness.

I ask my own reflection,

and it stares back—

tired,

broken,

but still breathing.

Maybe there is no reason.

Maybe the pain was not given as punishment

but as a strange, unwanted gift—

to shape me,

to carve me,

to make me something

I cannot yet see.

Still, the question lingers,

whispering through my bones,

like a prayer without an altar,

like a scream without an echo:

Why me?