Dying To Live

I die every day to live a little,

In ways I’d never imagined before.

Death is not always loss or an end;

Sometimes, it’s the shedding of masks,

The breaking of beliefs that tethered me tight,

The crumbling of identities I thought were mine.

Perhaps, a bit of innocence fades

Each time life demands I confront the unknown—

The darkness, the vast, unyielding abyss.

Yet, within that void, my soul reignites,

Moment by moment, piece by piece.

I tried hiding in my cocoon,

But I still transform into something raw,

Something true,

Something new.

I die every day to live a little,

When I see the scars on another’s soul,

Deeper than my own—

And yet, they carry on.

Their resilience becomes my quiet hymn,

Their pain whispers to my own:

“Be still, and rise again.”

And so, I learn to live a little,

Not in spite of the breaking,

But because of it.

For every death births a seed of life,

And in every shadow, I find a glimmer of light.

I die every day to live a little.

Then I learn to live some more.

I die every day, and little by little,

I live for so much more.

I die every day,

And now I know—

I live forever.

This body may fall, these identities fade,

But my soul will rise—

Through countless deaths, through crumbled beliefs,

Through the ashes of all I’ve been.

For every ending births a beginning,

And in the stillness of each fall,

I rise again—endlessly whole, endlessly free.

And so, I die every day to live a little.