I hate how little I seem to fit anywhere
like a cast shadow,
slipping along walls, unnoticed,
or a gentle breeze
that brushes past but never stays.
I wish the world could bend
to the edges of my comfort,
where silence is soft,
where no one's eyes weigh me down.
But the truth keeps coming back:
I must step out of it.
I must leave the comfort
that holds me like a cage,
and face the world
that never waits for anyone.
I wonder if Dracula stayed in the dark
because the sun would burn him,
or because the light
would show him the monster
he feared he was.
Maybe that's what it feels like to grow
to face the light,
to risk being exposed,
to risk being more
than the shadows you've hidden in.
The world will never stop moving,
and I can't stop myself forever.
I may tremble,
I may falter,
but stepping out of the dark
is the only way
to see if I am more
than what the shadows made me.