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Trapped but Not Forgotten
The strongest version of you
is not missing. It is buried.
Not by failure, not by fate,
but by the small agreements
you made with fear.
The quiet bargains: I’ll stay comfortable.
I won’t risk too much.
I’ll wait until I’m ready.
And habit, that slow, invisible jailer,
wrapped its chains around your days
until the extraordinary within you
began to sleep.
But strength is patient.
It waits beneath repetition,
beneath the morning you almost changed,
beneath the moment you said, “tomorrow.”
Every unbroken habit is a stone in the wall
between who you are and who you could become.
Look closely dear one.
The chains in your life
were not forged by enemies.
They were built from the familiar.
The same thoughts. The same doubts.
The same comfortable prisons
decorated to look like safety.
But the soul was never meant
to live quietly in cages.
It pounds at the walls of routine.
It whispers in the moments
you feel restless for no obvious reason.
That restlessness is your buried self
breathing through the rubble.
Breaking a habit
is not about discipline alone.
It is excavation.
It is lifting one stone, then another,
until the light finds the part of you
that refused to die.
And when the wall finally cracks,
when the chains fall and the dust settles,
you do not become someone new.
You meet the version of you
that was strong enough
to survive being buried.
