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“Damned If I Do”
Lately, I don’t got much to say.
It’s not that the words ain’t there—
they just sit heavy in my throat,
like they know nobody’s really listening.
I keep my thoughts folded
in the corners of my mind,
where no one asks about them
and I don’t have to explain myself again.
When I speak, it feels wrong.
When I stay quiet, it feels worse.
Damned if I do,
damned if I don’t—
and somewhere in between
I lose a little more of me.
People say, “you’ve changed.”
Maybe I have.
Maybe peace looks like distance now,
like not showing up to every argument
I used to lose.
Maybe silence is how I protect myself—
not because I’m cold,
but because I’m tired.
Tired of proving I mean well,
tired of caring too loud,
tired of being misunderstood.
So I sit with my quiet,
let it hold me for a while.
Maybe one day I’ll speak again,
when the world feels softer,
and I remember
what my voice sounds like
when it’s just for me.
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This why you can’t believe everything you see on the internet bc this was def me while I was writing this:

Hustlanani@hustlanani
Having a nigga has never been that serious to me, I can go months without talking to anybody !
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