Real Hustle
poetry
They talk about the grind,
about chasing dreams as if they’re running away,
about waking up early and never stopping
until you’re the last one standing.
But the real hustle,
it’s not always loud,
it doesn’t need to shout
in neon lights or perfect filters.
It’s in the quiet moments —
when no one’s watching,
when doubt curls itself around your heart
and you keep moving,
one foot in front of the other.
The real hustle isn’t glamorous,
it’s waking up tired and trying again anyway,
it’s pouring your soul into something
that doesn’t promise a return.
It’s the small victories,
the stumbles that no one claps for,
the nights you lie awake
wondering if it’s enough.
The real hustle is fighting against the noise
of what they say success should be,
and carving your own path
even when it feels like the world
isn’t paying attention.
Because it’s not the world you hustle for —
it’s the quiet promise
you made to yourself,
to keep going
until the echo of your effort
becomes louder than the silence.
