Roots and branches

My roots formed in uncelebrated places —
In kitchens heavy with silence,
In prayers said without witnesses,
In hands that learned endurance
Before they ever learned rest.
They grew quietly, gripping soil
That knew both hunger and hope,
Teaching me early that survival
Is a kind of wisdom.

My roots remember names I never met,
Lives that bent so mine could stand.
They carry stories braided with sacrifice,
With laughter softened by struggle,
With courage disguised as routine.
These roots do not shout.
They hold.
They steady me when the world
Mistakes noise for progress
And speed for purpose.

When I forget myself,
My roots pull me back —
To values shaped by necessity,
To faith learned through waiting,
To the understanding that growth
Must honor what sustains it.
They remind me that I come from depth,
Not convenience.

Yet roots alone cannot fulfill a life.

From that depth, my branches rise.

They reach beyond familiarity,
Stretching toward questions
My beginnings never had the luxury to ask.
They test the air for possibility,
Learning the courage of exposure,
The risk of being seen,
The art of bending without breaking.
Each branch is an act of trust —
That light exists beyond the known.

My branches carry ambition,
Not as rebellion, but as continuation.
They seek expansion, not escape.
They grow toward a future
Where survival evolves into choice,
Where endurance gives way to intention.

I stand in the space between —
Anchored by roots that refuse to let me forget,
Lifted by branches that refuse to let me stay.
Grounded in legacy,
Guided by vision,
I grow not in opposition to where