Somewhere inside all of this.
This is me again.Somewhere between
the noise and the quiet,
between knowing and not knowing,
between “I’m fine”
and whatever fine is supposed to mean.
This is me again,
standing where the night is wide enough
to hold every thought
I could not carry home.
The crickets are awake.
The wind has nothing to prove.
The sky is doing what skies do,
remaining vast
without asking to be understood.
And somehow,
that feels like enough
to stay a little longer.
There are things
I have survived so quietly
that even I forget
they once had the power to break me.
There are things
I am still surviving.
The weight of being the first,
the weight of being needed,
the strange exhaustion
of becoming dependable
before becoming ready.
And somehow,
beneath all of it,
there is still this strange little wish:
I hope I live before I die.
Not merely exist.
Not just make it through the days
because the days keep coming.
I mean live.
I hope I get to know
what it feels like
to have a life that does not always
feel like something I am trying to survive.
I hope I get through this part
without becoming someone
I spent so long trying to escape.
I hope one day
I can return to these words
with a softer heart
and laugh at how much
I thought I would never make it past.
I hope I can say,
look at that.
It worked out.
Not perfectly.
Not beautifully.
Just enough.
Enough to make all this exhaustion
feel like it belonged
to a life that was still becoming.
For now,
the night is quiet.
The sky is listening.
And there is nothing left
to explain.
This is me again,
signing off.
~🤍
Poetry by Ogundu Christabel oluebube (Chrisie)
Written on 2026-10-06 at 23:32
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