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Fragments Still Move Forward

A Poetic Monologue

By That ‘Freedom’ GuyPublished 7 months ago 2 min read

There is no glory here.

Only the soft crunch of broken glass

beneath boots that do not stop.

I walk because I must —

not toward anything,

just away from the wreckage

that used to be me.

🖤

My reflection is a shattered mirror

sprawled across a floor I can’t clean.

Each shard holds a different version —

some screaming,

some praying,

some so quiet they vanish.

And yet all of them are me.

All of them drag the same corpse forward.

🖤

They call it resilience.

But resilience is just ruin that didn’t die.

It’s the cracked porcelain smile

on a face that’s long since forgotten

what joy ever felt like.

I don’t thrive.

I persist.

I decay in motion.

🖤

The soul — if that’s still the word —

isn’t whole.

It’s a jagged thing now.

Fractal, fragmented,

splintered like frost on old bone.

I hold it together with ritual —

a rep, a step, a sentence scrawled in silence.

Little acts of defiance

against the erosion.

🖤

I do not rest.

Rest invites thought.

And thought reminds me.

So I move.

Discipline, not desire.

Motion, not meaning.

Because if I stop, the weight collapses me.

Because if I pause, I remember who I was

before the fire took it all.

🖤

Each day ends

with more debris in my chest.

More time burned.

More hope buried under lists and calories

and minutes spent pretending this all builds to something.

🖤

But I still do it.

Not because I believe.

Belief is a luxury for the unbroken.

I do it because I haven’t lost the war —

only every battle.

🖤

I am dust held together by habit.

A dead star with legs.

A mind gnawing on its own roots

just to feel something other than the cold.

🖤

But I take the step.

And then the next.

And if all that’s left of me is ash and echoes,

then let them be the kind

that still moved forward.

🖤

🪓 Like what you read?🪓

🪙 Then toss a coin into the fountain.

Make a wish —

for wilder words, sharper truths,

and more wild-folk with wild hair doing wild things.

Each offering stirs the water, feeds the fire,

and helps one such beast keep writing beneath the stars.

More Vivid Poetry From Ulf

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About the Creator

That ‘Freedom’ Guy

Just a man and his dog. And his kids. And his brother’s kids. And his girlfriend’s kid. And his girlfriend. Fine… and the whole family. Happy now?

Sharing journal thoughts, wisdom, psychology, philosophy, and life lessons from the edge.

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Comments (2)

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  • Rachel Robbins2 months ago

    just away from the wreckage that used to be me. That's the line that hooked me in.

  • Lana V Lynx2 months ago

    This is such an impressive poem, very insightful and reflective on human condition.

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