Not Today My Little Malevolent Sea Monkey

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Fresh Start, Blank Canvas
Stolen steam, stolen dreams—
my gut whispered of the fall to come.
Yet how I rise defines it all.

Shamed for carrying my grief,
though I’ve held it modestly, humbly,
at the very least.
They tell me to get over it,
as if I’d been under it.

Words slice like knives,
seeking the softest parts of my heart,
the weakest seams,
aimed with precision to break me.

Some wounds never heal—
spoken daggers cannot be unsaid.
Actions, cloaked in care,
drizzled with feigned love,
carry venom beneath their veil.

Beware: selfishness consumes,
destroys with quiet ferocity.
Yet I stand,
wounds mending, dreams rekindled,
turning stolen moments
into seeds of new beginnings.

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