Between What Held Me and What Awaits Me

My roots carry the weight of every yesterday

quiet, unshakable, honest.

They are the ones who remind me

that even when I bent,

I never broke.

They hold the stories of my first steps,

my first fears,

the moments that softened me

and the moments that sharpened me.

They keep me steady

when the world feels too loud.

But my branches—

they refuse to stay still.

They ache for open skies,

for dreams I have not dared to name,

for places where the light reaches

even the hidden corners of me.

They tell me there is more,

always more,

waiting beyond the edge

of who I used to be.

And I stand here,

in the delicate space between—

pulled by memory,

pulled by possibility.

Growing downward, growing upward,

learning that strength

is not choosing one or the other,

but holding both.

I am planted in my past,

but I am rising into my future.

Every day,

I become a little more

of who I was meant to be.