Morning comes without alarms No one grading how he starts Light spills in, he lets it be Doesn’t rush to earn the day Mirror shows a quieter face Not fixed, just taking space No gold star, no script to read Just breath, and that’s enough to lead Shoes still by the hospital bed Steps feel strange inside his head But every small and awkward move Is proof he didn’t fully lose For the first time, trying slow Not to impress, just to know Who he is without the weight Of being “fine” at any rate I’m learning how to stay When running feels the same Learning I don’t have to be Perfect just to breathe I don’t have to win today Don’t have to hide the pain If all I do is wake and try That’s enough to still be alive Phone still quiet, world still loud But he’s not disappearing now Sits with feelings, lets them talk Doesn’t shove them when they knock Therapy rooms, awkward chairs Words that shake the hidden air Every truth he says out loud Breaks the grip of old, old vows Not the kid who had to shine Not the mask, not that design Just a human, cracked but real Learning what it means to feel Healing ain’t a sudden light It’s choosing morning after night It’s messy, slow, and unimpressed But every step is still a yes Maybe strength is staying here Even when the sky’s not clear Maybe hope ain’t loud or bright Maybe hope just sleeps at night Maybe living isn’t grand Maybe it’s just unclenching hands I’m learning how to stay When leaving feels like escape Learning I deserve a life Even on the hardest days I don’t have to win today Don’t have to fake okay If all I do is wake and try That’s enough to still be alive This one’s the healing anthem. Not “I’m cured.” Not “I’m strong.” Just the bravest sentence a hurting person can say: “I’m still here… and I’m trying.”
