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Hidden Strength
In the quiet chambers of my soul, where shadows linger and memories echo, there resides a tempest—a storm that defies the sun’s warmth and the world’s understanding. It is a tempest born of trials, etched into the very fabric of my being, and it whispers secrets only to those who listen closely.
Why am I judged? The question reverberates within me, like a haunting melody. They see my surface, the mere ripples on the pond, but they know not of the currents beneath—the churning waters that threaten to engulf me. Perhaps it is human nature to label, to categorize, to reduce complexity into neat boxes. And so they do: “She stumbled once,” they say, “and that defines her forever.”But I am more than that misstep, more than the ink-stain on my story. For within this tempest lies a resilience that defies their expectations. It is not the kind of resilience that shouts from rooftops or wears armor—it is quieter, more profound. It is the resilience of a sapling bending in the storm, roots clinging to the earth, learning to sway without breaking.When the world hurls its judgments, I retreat. Alone, I weep—not in weakness, but in release. Tears are my secret rivers, carving pathways through rocky terrain. And then, when the night weeps alongside me, I learn to dance. Yes, dance—not in celebration, but in defiance. Each step a rebellion against despair. The haters—they are transient, like passing clouds. Their thunderous words fade, their lightning strikes lose their potency. They see the surface storm—the rain-soaked hair, the trembling hands—but they miss the symphony within. They miss the way courage gathers its fragments, stitches hope into the very fabric of my heart. They miss the way I rise, unyielding, from the wreckage of their judgments.
Let them underestimate me. Let them think I am fragile.For they know not the battles I wage—the silent wars fought in the chambers of my soul. I cry alone, yes, but emerge unbroken. My tears are not defeat; they are baptism.They cleanse me, prepare me for the dawn that follows the darkest night.
So judge me, world. Label me. But remember this: within this tempest lies a girl who dances with lightning,who finds solace in raindrops.
@Mehersiddiqi
© All rights reserved
Why am I judged? The question reverberates within me, like a haunting melody. They see my surface, the mere ripples on the pond, but they know not of the currents beneath—the churning waters that threaten to engulf me. Perhaps it is human nature to label, to categorize, to reduce complexity into neat boxes. And so they do: “She stumbled once,” they say, “and that defines her forever.”But I am more than that misstep, more than the ink-stain on my story. For within this tempest lies a resilience that defies their expectations. It is not the kind of resilience that shouts from rooftops or wears armor—it is quieter, more profound. It is the resilience of a sapling bending in the storm, roots clinging to the earth, learning to sway without breaking.When the world hurls its judgments, I retreat. Alone, I weep—not in weakness, but in release. Tears are my secret rivers, carving pathways through rocky terrain. And then, when the night weeps alongside me, I learn to dance. Yes, dance—not in celebration, but in defiance. Each step a rebellion against despair. The haters—they are transient, like passing clouds. Their thunderous words fade, their lightning strikes lose their potency. They see the surface storm—the rain-soaked hair, the trembling hands—but they miss the symphony within. They miss the way courage gathers its fragments, stitches hope into the very fabric of my heart. They miss the way I rise, unyielding, from the wreckage of their judgments.
Let them underestimate me. Let them think I am fragile.For they know not the battles I wage—the silent wars fought in the chambers of my soul. I cry alone, yes, but emerge unbroken. My tears are not defeat; they are baptism.They cleanse me, prepare me for the dawn that follows the darkest night.
So judge me, world. Label me. But remember this: within this tempest lies a girl who dances with lightning,who finds solace in raindrops.
@Mehersiddiqi
© All rights reserved
