Once bright, once golden,
then dim. Then dark. Then gone.
The lost whisper in silence,
but silence is just the womb of rebirth.
From ashes, I do not crawl.
I stand.
No begging hands, no shattered knees,
only fire licking at my heels,
only the knowing that I am made of storms
and storms don’t kneel.
New day, same hunger,
same rhythm pulsing in my bones.
Only now, the vision is sharper,
the aim, righteous.
I do not move for the sake of movement,
I move with purpose,
I move because my spirit demands it.
The style is mine, the path is mine,
Written with sweat, laced with dreams.
The grind? Oh, the grind is gospel,
a hymn written in calloused hands
and midnight prayers.
Here’s to the fallen,
and the ones who rise laughing,
the ones who build from broken,
who dance in the wreckage
and call it home.
Watch me.
Not with pity, not with doubt.
Watch me, because I rise.
Again. And again.
And again.
@okelododdychitchats
okelododdychitchats 