Fighting In The Dark Poem by Raphael Gouws

Some days,
the weight hits before I'm even awake,
like the night never really ended.
Just a new shade of black.

I walk through the hours
with my chest heavy
and my hands empty,
like I've been robbed by something I can't name.

The world doesn't see me
unless I slip,
and then suddenly
I'm all they talk about.
Kindness disappears in the noise,
mistakes echo for miles.

I've worn numbness like armor.
It's cold,
but it kept me from bleeding.
Now the cracks are showing,
and the feelings leak in —
raw, sour,
uninvited.

There's a part of me that wants to sink,
to let the waves cover my head
and hear nothing but water.
But another part,
small but stubborn,
is still swinging at the dark,
bare-knuckled,
even when it laughs back.

Maybe I'm not a hero.
Maybe I'm just too stubborn to stay down.
But as long as my feet are on the ground,
the night doesn't win.