Morning comes like broken glass,
Another body-check, another mask.
Pain curls up inside my bones,
Endo writes its name in stone.
I smile small, I swallow fire,
Doctors’ rooms and quiet lies,
Living in a body that won’t feel like mine,
Just trying to make it through the time.
They say, “You’re strong,” like I chose this fight,
Like strength is not surviving the night.
I’m still here, even when my mind splits wide,
When voices blur the dark inside.
Still here when fear won’t let me sleep,
When memories pull me off my feet.
I’m more than labels, more than scars,
More than broken hospital charts.
I’m still here—
And that means something, even now.
My emotions crash like tidal waves,
Love too loud, then I fade away.
I feel everything, then nothing at all,
Building walls just to watch them fall.
Trauma whispers in my sleep,
PTSD won’t let me keep
The past where it belongs, behind—
It lives like a ghost inside my mind.
I flinch at sounds, I doubt my name,
Some days I don’t feel real never mind safe.
But I’m still here, even when I shake,
When anxiety won’t give me a break.
Still here in the heavy gray,
When depression steals the light from days.
I’m not weak for needing help,
For fighting wars I never tell.
I’m still here—
And I deserve to be as well.
Food feels like fear, my body says no,
ARFID’s another road I didn’t choose to go.
Schizophrenia paints cracks in the wall,
I question what’s real, I question it all.
But hear me now, beneath the noise,
I am not my illness, I am still a person and I have a voice.
I’m still here, breathing through the ache,
Through every step I’m scared to take.
Still here, learning how to stay,
Even when I want to fade away.
I’m allowed to rest, I’m allowed to cry,
I’m allowed to need more time.
So if all I did was survive today,
That’s not failure—that’s brave.
I’m still here.
I’m still here.
