12/30/2025
Trapped
I woke up inside a body
that forgot how to answer me.
It lets me speak,
lets me hear the world pass by,
lets me see everything I cannot touch-
but nothing more.
I scream inside it.
A full-throated, breaking scream
that never reaches my mouth.
From the outside I am still,
but inside my ribs
something is clawing at the walls.
I try to move.
Pain says no.
Fatigue tightens its grip
and pulls me back down.
Each attempt costs more
than it should,
more than I have.
So I do the only thing left-
I work my way back in.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like sinking in mud
that doesn’t care how long I’ve been stuck.
I find a vine; thin, frayed,
maybe hope, maybe habit-
and I pull.
Tug.
Breathe.
Pull again.
I beg it not to break
as my hands burn,
as my strength shakes,
as progress feels invisible.
Tug.
Rest.
Pull.
This is healing-
not a miracle,
not a sudden return-
but the quiet refusal to let go,
the patience to inch forward
even when the body resists,
even when the scream stays silent.
And little by little,
I feel myself coming back-
mud still clinging,
voice still trembling-
but here,
alive inside my own skin again.
