A Life Like Mine
I kept waiting for a reason
Written somewhere in the stars,
Something larger than my sorrow,
Something worthy of these scars.
I thought purpose was a calling
Only chosen people heard,
A cathedral full of thunder,
A divine and perfect word.
But no voice came through the ceiling.
No great map appeared in gold.
Only questions in the quiet: “What would make you want to grow?”
Maybe I was never missing
One enormous hidden sign.
Maybe meaning isn’t found.
Maybe meaning is designed.
I want a life that feels like mine,
Not one I only tolerate.
A life with room to change direction,
Room to love and room to make.
I want mornings I can welcome,
I want nights I don’t just fight.
I want something more than breathing.
I want reasons to feel alive.
No perfect fate. No grand design.
Just something honest I can find.
A life I build with open eyes— A life that finally feels
like mine.
Maybe purpose is the music
I was frightened to create.
Maybe purpose is the person
Who feels heard because I stayed.
Maybe purpose is a garden,
Or a city I explore,
Or forgiving my reflection
Every time I close the door.
Maybe it is helping someone
Find the words I never had.
Maybe it is laughing loudly Without waiting to feel bad.
I don’t need to save the whole world To deserve my place
in time. I can make one corner warmer.
I can call that reason mine.
I want a life that feels like mine,
Not one I only tolerate.
A life with room to change direction,
Room to love and room to make.
I want mornings I can welcome,
I want nights I don’t just fight.
I want something more than breathing.
I want reasons to feel alive.
No perfect fate.
No
grand design. Just something honest I can find.
A life I build with open eyes— A life that finally feels
like mine.
I will try the things that scare me.
I will fail and still return.
I will follow every question
That gives something new to learn.
I will make a home from moments.
I will fill it with my sound.
I will stop demanding heaven
From the life I have right now.
And when purpose feels too distant,
When the future loses form,
I will find it in the smallest thing That makes me want
one morning more.
One more song. One more place.
One more name. One more face.
One more chance to be surprised.
One more reason to arrive.
I’m making a life that feels like mine,
Not one inherited from pain.
A life that bends without collapsing,
One that leaves me room to change.
There’ll be mornings I resent it.
There’ll be nights I barely fight.
But I’ve found something beyond breathing: I am curious about my life.
No perfect fate.
No grand design. But every day,
another line. And with these hands,
through changing time, I’ll make a life that feels like mine.
Maybe that is all that purpose is:
Not knowing what comes next— And wanting to be there
When it does.