They said I earned it. I don't believe them. I learned to keep receipts for every breath I stole, Kept a running ledger just to justify the toll. Every bruise became a credential, every loss a little proof, Every time I hit the bottom, I mistook it for the truth. I got fluent in the grammar of a permanent defeat, Made a habit of retreating before victory could speak. Now the numbers contradict everything I thought I knew. So I sharpen every discrepancy until the numbers break in two. I know what failure asks of me. I know exactly what it costs. But success has no instructions, Only questions I forgot. If I’m finally breathing, why am I choking? If this is mine, why do I feel like it’s stolen? I can hold the evidence, still question the proof, Stand inside the answer and interrogate the truth. Every summit looks suspicious when you've lived beneath the weight. I keep waiting for the sentence, For the verdict, for the blade. I don't fear that I will fail... I fear they’ll find out that I never should have prevailed. I can turn an accomplishment into circumstantial doubt, Find a loophole in the logic, tear the confidence out. “Right place, right time," that's the narrative I feed, Anything to make achievement something other than me. I don't celebrate; I audit. Don't accept it; I dissect. If the outcome says I'm worthy, I assume the sample's incorrect. I've spent so long rehearsing how to lose without surprise That being handed something earned feels like somebody else's prize. I know how to fight the fire, how to ration, how to run But nobody taught the animal what to do When there is nothing left to outrun. I know the shape of desperation. I know the arithmetic of less. But abundance feels suspicious When deprivation was the test. If I’m finally breathing, why am I choking? If this is mine, why do I feel like it’s stolen? I can hold the evidence, still question the proof, Stand inside the answer and interrogate the truth. Every summit looks suspicious when you've lived beneath the weight. I keep waiting for the sentence, For the verdict, for the blade. I don't fear that I will fail... I fear they’ll find out that I never should have prevailed. WHO SIGNED THE PAPER? WHO LET ME IN? WHO MISSED THE FRAUD BENEATH THE SKIN? I BUILT THIS. I KNOW I DID. So why does every brick Feel like evidence against me? Maybe I confused endurance with identity, Mistook being needed for being worthy. Maybe I don't miss the suffering. I miss the certainty. Pain had rules. Pain kept score. Pain told me exactly What I was fighting for. If I’m finally breathing, why am I choking? If this is mine, why do I feel like it’s stolen? I've got the scars, I've got the proof, I've got every reason to believe the truth. So why do I still cross-examine Every good thing that I become? Maybe the fraud isn't the success. Maybe it's the voice that says I had to suffer To deserve it. Don't take it back. I'm just still learning that surviving wasn't the same thing as earning my right to live.
