45 - Drawn to the Broken, Because I Am

I’ve known struggle for over two decades.

It became my life. 

It became me. 

Always behind. 

In relationships. 

In finances. 

In feelings. 

Struggle became my rhythm 

the only one I knew.

I watch others live. 

Laugh. 

Build dreams. 

I used to try to live like them. 

To socialise. 

To belong. 

But something was always missing. 

I couldn’t relate. 

Hope and ease felt foreign. 

Their world moved in light

mine in shadow.

I set goals. 

I even reach some. 

But fulfillment never comes. 

The weight of money, 

the grind of survival

they’re familiar. 

I don’t resent them. 

I just live with them. 

I live to work. 

Not work to live. 

I was made to endure.

I try to connect. 

To get close. 

The get intimate.

To be seen. 

But most people’s lives,

the way they were raised, 

the way they move through the world 

it’s so different from mine. 

I find no bridge. 

No shared language.

I’m drawn to the broken. 

Not out of pity. 

But because they’re the only ones I feel slightly attracted to. 

The only ones I can offer something to.

With them, 

I’m not a burden. 

I’m a companion. 

A witness. 

A quiet helper. 

I can hold their pain because I’ve lived it too. 

maybe in helping them carry theirs, I feel a little less alone in mine

I’ve worn hardship so long 

it fits like skin. 

And now, 

I don’t know how to live without the ache.