Born Losing, Still Breathing
I think I lost before I knew there was a race,
before I had a name, before I had a face.
Before my first breath ever touched the air,
there was already static tangled in my hair.
I came from smoke and shaking hands,
from broken rooms and half-made plans.
A tiny heartbeat under somebody’s storm,
born into a world already warped and worn.
My body learned fear before it learned me,
learned how heavy being alive could be.
While other kids were held like something sweet,
I was born with thunder under my feet.
Then I was given a roof and told, “You’re safe,”
but danger can smile with a familiar face.
It can sit at the table, pass the bread,
then turn into a shadow beside your bed.
A monster doesn’t always look like teeth.
Sometimes it wears Sunday clothes underneath.
Sometimes it laughs where the whole world can see,
then waits for the dark to come looking for me.
So I got good at being okay.
I learned what to hide, what not to say.
I made my mouth soft, made my eyes lie,
said “I’m just tired” and let the truth die.
I wore normal like clothes that didn’t fit,
smiled through the ache, swallowed all of it.
Kept my hands steady, kept my voice light,
while my mind tore holes in itself every night.
And people would say, “You’re doing so well,”
not knowing my head was a locked motel.
Every room filled with ghosts and noise,
every mirror holding a little girl’s voice.
They tell me healing is a choice you make,
like I chose the bruises, the cracks, the ache.
Like I picked this brain, this skin, this fear,
like I invited the monsters to live here.
But I was only a child with nowhere to run,
blamed for a war I never begun.
Losing a game with rules made cruel,
punished for drowning before there was a pool.
So no, I didn’t break from one bad day.
I was bent by hands I won’t name that way.
I was born in the smoke, raised near the flame,
then taught to smile like I wasn’t in pain.
And still, somehow, my heart beats through,
after all the things it was dragged into.
Not whole, not healed, not shining bright,
but breathing.
And sometimes,
that has to count as a fight.
K