I arrived in nineteen with pockets of dust,
Watching a lifetime crumble to rust.
A world shut down, and the foundation fell,
Living on credit in a silent hell.
Kids grew distant, the silence grew wide,
With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
I bunked on a couch, then found my own floor,
Pushed open a brand-new, promising door.
I fought my way back, step by painful step,
Holding the promises I stubbornly kept.
Then the ground caved in, the job went away,
And night swallowed up what was left of the day.
Yet I stood back up—because what else to do?
I patched up the cracks and started anew.
Moved in with my father to shoulder the weight,
To help share the burden and lighten the fate.
Two short weeks before life struck again,
Bringing death to the family, losses, and pain.
Back at my cousin’s, back at the start,
With a heavy chest and a tired heart.
The walls I built up to keep me secure
Are starting to crumble, no longer sure.
Depression creeps in through the cracks in the stone,
And the pressure feels vast, heavy, and lone.
But hear this, dark air, and hear this, cold room:
I am not just the shadow, the weight, or the gloom.
I have risen from zero time and again,
I have walked through the fire, the storm, and the rain.
The walls may be shaking, the armor worn thin,
But the spirit inside me refuses to give in.
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