I don't want to believe heaven exists, I can't be madly good when I get hit, with a smile in return, and then cry—for nothing, alone... Was I born to be unhappy? Did I agree to this game to tell everyone that I have nothing, and actually inside, without moaning, to scream?! I long to have my power entirely, not to walk with tired feet, and not to see myself helpless, to start from the pure trail of a brave heart... Ask for love? Oh, no, forget it! I'm not going to do it to ourselves today, we're going to go ahead, and let them mow down my iron coffin, it is invented, and loses its power, often in love. Because it's a symbol of human faith, when you touch it for a while, and for the symbol, people around us, it is invented, loses its power when left unattended!
# Born Not To Suffer We are born not to suffer but the world teaches us how to break our backs bending under invisible weights— how to smile through shattered teeth, how to call it resilience when we are only learning to live with the debris. They say this is strength: to swallow your screams, to polish your wounds until they gleam like medals of honor. But I have seen strength in the refusal to break silently, in the woman who said *no* and let the world shake, in the boy who wept and did not apologize for his tears. We are born for joy— for the taste of mango in summer, for the sound of rain on tin roofs, for the weight of another's hand in ours, for the inexplicable lightness of a day that asks nothing of us. Yet we wear our suffering like a second skin, inherited and expected, as if pain were the price of living, as if we were forged in fire only to prove we would not burn. But what if we were wrong? What if we are allowed to flourish without first being broken? What if strength is not measured by how much we endure but by how fiercely we choose to live unburdened, to claim the joy we were born deserving?
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