In a crowded room,

 In a crowded room,  

voices blend,  

like colours spilt on a canvas,  

each one a line,  

a rule,  

an opinion that stitches the air.  

  

I stand at the edge,  

where the laughter rolls by like waves,  

and I feel like a stone,  

tossed but not buried,  

waiting for meaning,  

waiting to be heard.  

  

Every move I make,  

feels like a dance on thin ice,  

a slip, a crack,  

the weight of choices  

freezing me in place.  

Why is it,  

that when I reach out,  

the world pulls back?  

  

I used to soar,  

like summer birds tracing  

curves in the sky,  

but now I’m tangled,  

like a vine lost in shadows,  

searching for sunlight,  

but grasping at air.  

  

They say, 'Do this, don't do that,'  

scripted lines from voices  

I never chose,  

bound in rules that box me in,  

cracking my reflection  

into shards that don’t fit.  

  

I want to scream,  

to break free of this mould,  

to whisper my truth  

into the winds,  

but silence wraps around me,  

a quiet thief,  

leaving me with pieces,  

that don’t look like me.  

  

I wander through the noise,  

trying to find a place  

where my heart beats loudly,  

where I can wear my skin like armour,  

not a weight,  

not a shame.  

  

Can the seas calm,  

can the winds change?  

Can I find my voice  

in a world that claps,  

but never hears,  

that applauds the safe,  

and boo’s the strange?  

  

I long for moments  

where rules are whispers  

and opinions fade like half-remembered dreams,  

where I can draw a real breath,  

from the depths of my soul,  

and simply be.  

  

So here I stand,  

rough around the edges,  

learning to stitch my scraps of self,  

into a tapestry of resilience,  

to challenge the echoes,  

and reclaim my song.  

  

The world will sway,  

and twist like the trees in storms,  

but I’m finding my roots,  

in the soil of who I am—  

a swirl of colours,  

no need for permission  

to belong.