Ashes Don’t Define Me

I am not my failures, though they echo loud,
Though they follow me like a heavy cloud.
I’ve stumbled — yes, fell hard, bled deep,
But seeds don’t grow without breaking sleep.

The world may whisper what I’ve lost,
They count the cracks, but not the cost.
They see the ruin, not the rise,
The grit behind my tired eyes.

I’ve worn regret like second skin,
Let shame build walls too thick, too thin.
But even when the night was long,
I hummed beneath my breath a song —

Not of glory, not of grace,
But of standing still in place.
Of learning how to breathe again,
To make a home inside the pain.

I am the fire, not the ash,
The lesson forged in every crash.
I am the ink, not just the blot,
A story that they haven’t caught.

Don’t name me for the days I fell,
My spirit holds too much to tell.
I carry scars — but also flame.
I wear defeat, but not as name.

So let the world throw doubt and dust,
I’ll rise again, because I must.
For I am more than wounds or fears,
I am the hope that outlasts years.