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2073;
Score | 44
Dolapo Oludairo Creative Director @ VFE
In Literature, Writing and Blogging 3 min read
TETHERED
<p>All my life, I’ve searched for purpose.</p><p>Or maybe… I tried to define it.</p><p>Tried to mold it into something tangible —</p><p>something I could carry</p><p>like a name,</p><p>like a legacy,</p><p>like the dreams that weren’t mine</p><p>but were handed down to me.</p><p><br/></p><p>Purpose.</p><p>A pile of feathers.</p><p>Soft, elusive,</p><p>always slipping through my fingers</p><p>just when I think I’ve found it.</p><p>Light enough to float,</p><p>but heavy enough to haunt.</p><p><br/></p><p>I’ve asked myself, over and over:</p><p>“What is the true meaning of purpose?”</p><p>Is it real?</p><p>Is it mine?</p><p>Or have I merely been following a trail of voices</p><p>telling me what I should become?</p><p><br/></p><p>They say the flame inside is proof.</p><p>That if you feel it —</p><p>that pull in your chest,</p><p>that ache in your spirit —</p><p>then you're meant for something.</p><p>And I do.</p><p>I feel it.</p><p>I burn quietly,</p><p>restlessly.</p><p><br/></p><p>But the world outside me</p><p>is louder than the one within.</p><p>And sometimes I wonder if I’ve been living a life</p><p>pre-written in someone else's handwriting.</p><p><br/></p><p>I was born with dreams,</p><p>but I inherited expectations.</p><p>They dressed me in their hopes,</p><p>taught me how to walk their path</p><p>before I could ever draw my own.</p><p><br/></p><p>They meant well.</p><p>But good intentions still weigh heavy</p><p>when they aren't yours to carry.</p><p><br/></p><p>So I bend.</p><p>I shrink.</p><p>I rehearse gratitude</p><p>for a life that doesn’t feel like mine.</p><p>And in the stillness,</p><p>I mourn the girl I never fully became —</p><p>the one who once believed</p><p>that she could be everything</p><p>she imagined.</p><p><br/></p><p>I whisper to myself:</p><p>"You know your purpose."</p><p>And I do.</p><p>Somewhere deep,</p><p>beneath the silence,</p><p>beneath the guilt,</p><p>beneath the “what ifs”</p><p>and the “don't disappoints.”</p><p><br/></p><p>I know it.</p><p>It’s the rhythm I dream in.</p><p>It’s the colour in my mind.</p><p>It’s the way I come alive</p><p>when no one’s watching.</p><p><br/></p><p>But how do you follow your flame</p><p>when you’re afraid it might burn bridges</p><p>you were raised to protect?</p><p><br/></p><p>How do you choose yourself</p><p>when you’ve been taught</p><p>that love means sacrifice?</p><p><br/></p><p>The truth is,</p><p>I’m tired.</p><p>Not from chasing dreams —</p><p>but from running from the noise.</p><p>From apologizing for wanting more</p><p>than what was given.</p><p><br/></p><p>Still…</p><p>the flame persists.</p><p>Even dimmed,</p><p>it burns.</p><p><br/></p><p>It flickers for me</p><p>when everything else has gone quiet.</p><p><br/></p><p>And maybe,</p><p>just maybe,</p><p>that’s enough.</p><p>Maybe that’s purpose too —</p><p>the courage to keep reaching</p><p>even when your hands shake.</p><p><br/></p><p>I haven’t fully arrived.</p><p>But I’m still walk</p><p>ing.</p><p>Still choosing.</p><p>Still learning to trust</p><p>that the path I carve</p><p>with trembling hands</p><p>can still lead me home.</p><p><br/></p>

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