Why do we have to live this way—
counting hours like borrowed change,
measuring worth in numbers
that never remember our names?
Why do mornings arrive already tired,
dragging yesterday behind their eyes,
while we lace up our thoughts
into shoes that don’t fit our lives?
We build days out of “have to,”
stack them tall like fragile towers,
and call it living—
this quiet trade of breath for hours.
Who decided the sky was something
we only look at in passing?
Who taught our hearts to whisper
when they were made for asking?
There are dreams we keep on hold
like calls we’re afraid to make,
afraid someone—or something—
will answer, and we’ll have to wake.
Why do we stay where the light feels dim,
where laughter echoes thin and strange?
Is it fear of the unknown—
or fear that we might change?
Maybe we don’t have to live this way.
Maybe the question itself is a door,
cracked open just enough
to imagine something more.
And maybe—just maybe—
the life we’re waiting to begin
has been knocking this whole time,
softly,
from within
Thank-you for reading,
Brenda Marie
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This heartfelt poetry is fascinating, Brenda, and so well written.
Thank-you, Tim
My pleasure, Brenda. 😍
This is such a moving piece, Brenda—your words carry a quiet ache that feels deeply honest. The way you weave imagery like “counting hours like borrowed change” and “lace up our thoughts into shoes that don’t fit our lives” really stays with a person. There’s a tenderness in how you question the weight of routine while honoring the heart’s longing for something more. Thank you for sharing this.👍🏻🌷🤝
Srikanthm, thank you so much for such a thoughtful and generous response. It really means a lot to know that those lines resonated with you and lingered in some way. You captured exactly the feeling I was trying to explore—that quiet tension between routine and longing. I’m grateful you took the time to sit with it and share what it stirred in you. 🌷