Smith

– Because we may be the smiths of our fate, but sometimes the hammer is placed in another's hands. And then all that remains is to endure. And to hope that one day the fire will not only burn, but also warm.

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Smith

They say I am the smith of my own fate.
But someone else's hand holds the hammer,
my body is the anvil, my heart the fire,
and with every blow I only curl tighter.

I long for a companion. Someone who understands.
Who hears in the silence what I don't say.
Who finds me in the dark when I disappear.
Who isn't afraid of my wounds because they know their own.

But this is only a dream. And a dream it will remain.
Because when I cling to hope,
with desperate, bloody fingers,
they push me away. They shut themselves in. They shut me out.

"Selfish," they say, when you want love.
"You want too much," they say, when you dare to hope.
"Don't expect others to make you happy," they say,
while they themselves search for the same thing you do.

We only have one life, they say.
And this one life must be lived
without the right to be happy.
The smile I show is fake.
The fear I hide is real.

You struggle. You work. You survive.
And all the while you watch the other,
who does the same,
and you wonder:
why can't we simply be...
each other's?

Death comes for everyone.
Sooner or later.
And when it comes, it won't ask
if you were happy.
It will simply take.
Everything.

But I am still here.
Still.
Clinging to hope,
which I know I should let go of,
because it only brings pain.

But hope is the only thing
that shines in the dark.
Even if it's false.
Even if it's only a dream.

I still believe in it.
Because if I take away hope too,
then truly nothing will remain.
Only the silence.
And the loneliness.
And the smile I put on every morning,
like armor, beneath which
I am slowly bleeding out.

Arden Tomas 🏳️‍🌈

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