The Edges That Bruise Us

There is a room inside ourselves,  

quiet but full of trembling,  

where worry curls like smoke,  

and anger bites through silence.  

Self-pity lingers here,  

dripping from the walls,  

while depression folds its weight  

into the softest corners.  

Sometimes, the threat comes like a storm,  

rushing in from a stranger's eyes,  

an unkind word splitting  

the fragile surface of our peace.  

Other times, it blooms within us,  

like a flower with teeth  

that gnash against the sunlight,  

clawing to stay unseen.  

Each relationship is a reflection—  

a mirror smudged with history,  

a question we forgot to stop  

and answer in the stillness.  

When instincts tremble,  

when the earth beneath shifts,  

do we fall, or do we grip  

the jagged edges that bruise us?