Page 86 of Till Orc Do Us Part
Sometimes the tide leaves you raw,
crusted over with things you didn't ask for.
But even then, you find your way to standing.
You find driftwood and old nails.
You build something with shaking hands.
Not a fortress.
Not a finish line.
Just a space where breath can land and not break.
I used to think survival was strength.
That quiet meant safety.
That alone meant control.
But it doesn’t.
It just means no one knows where to catch you when you fall.
I’ve learned to let the storm in.
To stand anyway.
To bleed on the page and call it poetry.
To look someone in the eye and say?—
yes. I’m scared. But I’m still here.
Still hoping.
Still fighting.
Still soft in all the places they told me to harden.
Where the salt settles?—
that’s where the story begins.
Silence.
Complete.
Like the whole room has forgotten how to breathe.
I lower the page. My hand trembles.
For a moment, I wish I hadn’t read it.
And then I meet his eyes.
He hasn’t moved from the back of the room.
