Freedom Is My Name

 

Freedom is my name or maybe I keep telling myself that

Tired of all the invisible chains of the adulthood,

Forced to perform well, measured by possessions,

Should do what the others do, caged in normality.

Freedom is my name, I keep telling myself that

Not to forget the sweetness of my dreams coming true

Going against the current of what I was instilled by other,

Possessing different perspective, doing what I love.

Freedom is my name; I don’t belong to anyone but me.

Seeing beauty in what the others despise, dancing wild in my own music

Running like crazy on the green grass, everyone sees dry,

Like a bird I freely fly unbothered, refusing to bent the knee.

Freedom is my name, I don’t gel with what Is expected

Chasing the winds when everyone looks for shelter from the storms;

Pouring rain instead of hair, fire instead of eyes – I ain’t made of clay

I am unmoldable, iron heart from I can’t recognize as mine.

Freedom is my name – I am the untamed one

Whose joy comes from falling inlove with her soul every day,

Refusing to change when the change is not required,

Evolving in my own pace, my life is not a race with other’s timelines.

Freedom is my name – I keep shouting aloud when the world goes silent,

When the lines of my reality are blurred with someone else’s direction,

When the song lose its meaning I refuse to dance,

When lyrics don’t match my voice and vision anymore.

Freedom is my name, I keep telling myself that

Not to settle with less before I try to forge my own path,

It’s like a mantra I chant every time I feel down,

Influenced of what does not reflect me.

Freedom is my name – it is never easy, rarely do I face kindness or understanding

But the power comes from within – I am my biggest critic yet my greatest supporter,

Life is never easy when you walk on your own, against the grain.

Freedom is my name, Bravery is what comes with it.

I don’t look for applauses nor spotlight, I am perfectly contain with what I currently am,

No need of flashy stage, just a small corner where I am what I was always meant to be–

To be fully, wildly, unapologetically ME!

Freedom is my name and I feel FREE!

The Emptiness Within

 

Wake up, work, go home, repeat…

A never-ending time loop as if the world is not moving

Or I am frozen in time without a chance for change – I am suffocating.

Managing expectations of what the adulthood is supposed to be - the opposite of me

I am no longer alive – dead inside.

I walk through days like I live in an abandon asylum – lights are flickering

The corridors are dirty, endless maze of lost hope – lost in time.

Each step I take is humming the same dull song of duty and decay.

The clock is my executioner, the calendar chained to my mind.

I fake my purpose with long to-do lists; endless chain of duties,

Meeting my goals with processes and procedures which keep stealing my spark,

Yet pretending this shell of a life is what I chose – this existence is so wrong.

…

I hate what I have become, enslaved of sick ambitions, never happy,

Always pushing further – it has no end…

I chase goals that vanish once completed,

Like mirages on the edge of reason - living and breathing in the vast corporate desert.

What is success, if it guts me empty?

What is growth, if it costs me my sanity?

I am left so hollow once I get in and out the place that sucks me dry.

This isn’t living – it’s rehearsing death in slow motion - animated version of success.

I want to scream, but I have forgotten how.

My voice is buried beneath countless meetings, bills, and forced chats—

Deafen by the rhythm of a shallow routine,

Drowned out by the noise of doing just enough to get by.

I speak fancy words I don’t mean, smile when I feel nothing,

Nod through conversations that test my patience.

How did I let this happen?

When did the primal instinct for survival replace the desire of living?

When did I stop asking the questions that mattered the most to me?

When did the endless Curiosity of mine became such a luxury, a wonder, a distraction?

I traded my spark for stability I didn’t even want.

Now I measure life in deadlines and quiet disappointments,

Shiny reports and pages of documentation

Burying the questions that once lit up my mind.

Each day feels so borrowed, I have had enough —

A slow drift from who I was to "who I have to be".

And I barely recognize myself anymore - the silence inside me is growing louder.

…

Another weekend, lifeless on the couch with enough to just create something once a week

When emotions running high before the drastic energy decline,

A glimmer of hope and purpose drown into the infinite fatigue.

Words drift in but I cannot make them stay with me – chased by the exhaustion I coupled with.

And I whisper to myself – "Maybe next time" knowing too well I have been lying to myself,

The words I have said countless times – the echo of forgotten promise that feels heavier every time.

Womanhood Or Something Like That

 

Brought up by semi-modern women,

Values mixed with prosperity and flavor of obedience.

We keep trying to fulfill what we are expected to by the society and parental hopes.

We are being told that we should be fighters yet gentle with a strong feel of being someone’s home

And we should not stop supporting those we call other half.

…

And here we are so damaged and so broken, feeling lost,

From all the teachings we received, we were never taught to seek what we truly desire.

I keep hearing my mother’s voice that I should be so independent,

That I should always have my own money, home, ambitions until I meet the one.

Then I should settle, forget about what I strive to achieve and give birth to children

As my life is not yet so bright, not so deep.

Yet I am so confused from all this wisdom what should I be – a homemaker and achiever.

What this live is supposed to be?

And it clicked me after years of depression, tons of therapy and tears shed

That I have never been asked the question – What exactly you want to be?

Religion put into the picture, extension of my parents what makes the life good,

Never taught to choose what it right, just what should make them proud.

As young women we struggle – be a good girl, be smart, don’t provoke attention,

Stay invisible, don’t push too hard and yet we are expected to be pure perfection –

Look at them, it’s not that hard.

…

So we break ourselves quietly, framed into the shapes they demand.

We swallow grief in the dark, wipe off the evidence only to return to the stage.

Taught to pour tea with trembling hands, to bleed and smile through it.

Told that agony is noble, that silence is our inheritance.

When we shatter into pieces, they scoff—weak, hysterical, ungrateful, not pretty enough.

They want us clever yet not defiant,

Driven but never to go in life too far—

Soft enough to soothe, dumb enough to forget what they truly meant,

Numb enough to never fall in waves of rage - not so ladylike to admire.

When the loneliness wraps its bony hands around our ribs,

We whisper our guilt into the mirror, ashamed of needing more.

Some of us chain ourselves to strangers, mistaking it for rescue.

Some of us remain untouched, too haunted to trust.

…

No one tells us—

You don’t owe them your silence.

You don’t have to vanish to be loved.

You weren’t made to fix what’s broken in others.

You weren’t born just to carry tradition like a curse.

But by the time we learn this,

We've already been reshaped— cut down, dulled, rewired.

Our identities surgically edited to match the script of “the real woman.”

Now we drift somewhere between versions of half truth and a lie—

Some polished and pretty, others barely stitched together.

And the ones holding the pen keep rewriting our parts,

Claiming it’s truth, claiming it’s fate.

We walk in borrowed skin - costumed like clowns in someone else’s circus,

Trapped in lives we have never subscribed for,

Called by names that never felt to belong.

Still we lie next to people who never saw us.

Still we whisper in fear—What the fuck is wrong with me?

And the truth is so cruel and so clear—

They never gave us the space to become real.

Only carved us into something they could hold,

Something easy to OWN.