I carry cities where others carry names.
Ancient hallways echo with footsteps no one hears, yet every dream I ever dared
still knows my address.The walls remember
what my heart refused to evict. Every crack, another lesson. Every stone, another promise.
Souls are not empty things. They are cathedrals
built one prayer at a time. If you could walk through me, you would not find ruins.
You would find every version of myself
still choosing hope... still leaving the door open
for tomorrow. My body is only the address..
my soul is where I live.
Slam poetry by LucyAlia
@Lucyalia 2024, 2025 , 2026 All rights reserved
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