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At night,
the world grows quiet enough
to hear the war.

Regret loads the chambers.
Hope misfires.
Memory refuses to surrender.
And somewhere beneath the smoke,
a smaller version of me
keeps waving a white flag
that no one ever sees.

I don’t want applause.
I don’t want saving.

I just want one morning
where my own reflection
doesn’t feel like a stranger.

One hour
where my thoughts don’t sharpen themselves
into weapons.

One breath
that belongs only to peace.

Until then,

I’ll keep walking.

Not because I’m certain
the road leads somewhere better—

but because somewhere beneath the rubble,
under all the names I’ve called myself,

there is still a heartbeat

that hasn’t agreed with the war.

Stay Weird. Love You. Mean It.