NEPHART.COM

Do they appreciate

the way you are

I stopped caring

what people say

I appreciated myself

enough

to last a month

Then I came back

stood in front of the mirror

and admitted

self-appreciation leaks

All I wanted

was validation from others

But they arrive carrying

different mouths

different weather

You dress this way

you look smart

No, you look bland

No, you don’t look like

you belong to this land

So appreciation becomes optional

and validation

a requirement

Yet nothing

nothing we need as much

as closing our eyes

What else do we need

to remember ourselves

Memory lane

unchanged

The way she looked at me

like she was already gone

That look

Those eyes

Distant before distance

Memories don’t leave

they relocate

Will we cross paths someday

Nothing to do

Nothing to say

Destiny doesn’t need applause

Only witness

We must appreciate

the way we are

In one way

and the other

Two sides of the same lane

Me

You

Us

All of us

walking

without noticing

we never left

memory lane

I asked a bird

if I could borrow its wings

just for a while

so I could fly back home.

It didn’t answer.

It dropped a few feathers.

I stood there,

holding them,

thinking

what does a man do

with feathers

lighter than his heart,

thinner than his blood,

lighter than his sweat,

and all the work

he buried inside time.

My body is heavy.

I know that.

So I leave my fate with God.

Because even if my bones refuse,

I still believe

my soul

remembers how to fly.

I’ve crossed oceans like a bird.

Let’s not romanticize it.

I used a plane.

No wings.

No sky songs.

Just tickets, queues,

and a goodbye

that stayed longer than expected.

When I landed on this land,

I got busy in my lane.

Survival doesn’t ask poetry,

it asks rent.

But tell me,

what name do you give

to pain

when everyone around you

calls it opportunity?

I know I’m not the only one

living in a cage.

Some cages look like jobs,

some look like smiles,

some look like “I’m fine.”

Not every emotion

is meant to be staged.

Yes,

I earned something.

Money.

Distance.

A tougher skin.

But how long

can you lock yourself in a night,

hold a beer like a peace treaty,

and convince your heart

whispering to it,

slowly,

patiently,

lying gently,

“Happy days.”

What mistake was that…

which I committed in life?

I thought

I was bigger

than the image

society carved for me.

They used labels instead of chisels,

opinions instead of measurements,

and somehow expected me

to fit inside their pocket-sized truth.

I tried.

I shrank.

I smiled.

That…

was the mistake.

Life is simple.

Painfully simple.

Until you start scratching a pimple

that only needed

time.

Not pressure.

Not nails.

Not obsession.

Just patience.

But we are impatient creatures.

We poke our wounds

and call it healing.

Come closer.

Share your dreams with me.

Not the polished ones

you rehearse at interviews.

The raw ones.

The embarrassing ones.

The dreams you whisper

only when the lights are off

and even hope is half-asleep.

I cannot promise to make them real.

But I promise this

I will not laugh.

I will walk with you

until reality starts negotiating.

They say love is blind.

No.

Love sees too much.

It sees potential where fear sees risk.

It sees tomorrow while today is still screaming.

Love simply doesn’t have

the correct lens

to examine people

the way suspicion does.

That is not blindness.

That is courage

without armor.

Someone once asked me,

“How do I become rich?”

I said,

“You already are.”

They laughed.

Of course they did.

So I said,

“If you don’t believe me,

walk into the cave of your heart.”

Not run.

Walk.

Walk far enough

that noise gets tired.

Far enough

that expectations turn back.

Far enough

that even your name dissolves.

And there

you will find it.

A treasure

that does not glitter,

does not depreciate,

does not ask permission

from circumstance.

Once you touch it,

poverty becomes a situation,

not an identity.

Loss becomes weather,

not destiny.

And no matter

how deprived life tries to make you,

you will remain

untouchably rich.

So no…

my mistake was not dreaming too big.

My mistake

was forgetting

that I was already enough

before the world

gave me a mirror.

I don’t know

where life will lead me

I don’t pretend to.

No blueprint folded in my pocket

No shortcut scribbled by someone richer than my doubt

I don’t know.

But I know this.

When the room gets heavy

When the days forget their purpose

My people will need me

And I will show up

Even if I arrive tired

Even if I arrive unsure

Even if all I bring

is my presence

I don’t know

how love is supposed to save me

I’ve seen love fail

I’ve seen it leave

I’ve seen it arrive late

with apologies that limp

Still

I know for sure

my people will love me

Not because I am perfect

But because I stay

Because I listen

Because I choose us

over the easy exit

I don’t know

how things are going to change

Some nights

the future feels like a locked door

with no handle

just my reflection staring back

But I believe

time keeps receipts

It will tell the truth

about how much I tried

how much I fell

how many times I stood up

without an audience

I don’t know

how success will recognize me

or how failure will say my name

But I’m learning

both are temporary visitors

Neither gets to move in

I don’t know

how kindness is supposed to help

in a world that rewards noise

sharp elbows

and cold ambition

But listen

If you love

and love

and love

and love

Something refuses to die

Something remembers you

Something survives the collapse

Maybe that’s the real victory

Not the height you reach

but the hands you never drop

I don’t know

where life will lead me

But I walk anyway

With open hands

With a steady heart

And what I know for sure

is enough

My people

are my direction

What in the world

is this life rehearsing me for

again

and again

and again

one moment stacked

on the back of another

rush

rush

rush

rush to work

rush through streets that don’t remember my name

rush for a bus that never waits

rush inside traffic

where time melts into horns

rush hour

but I have no hour left

I am tired

not the sleep kind

the soul-after-shift kind

losing strength

like loose change

losing power

like a phone at one percent

people running with briefcases

running with bags

running like the day is short

like evening is a mouth

and something sharp is hiding inside it

I rush on the phone

rush rush rush

half the words don’t arrive

half the meanings are lost in space

someone speaking

from another planet

and calling it normal

rushing for this

rushing for that

carrying a rabbit in my hat

trying to keep it alive

while performing miracles

with shaking hands

everybody wants magic

but nobody wants time

so tell me

what kind of spell survives

when the air itself

is late