Roots and Wings

Roots

are the

echoes you

inherit in your

bones and breath,

unshakable, endless.

Yet,

they can ache.

A mother’s gentleness,

or absence of it.

A father’s guidance,

or silence instead.

A brother’s sharp words,

a sister’s wavering love.

A family’s strength,

or its unraveling.

A history tangled,

woven with secrets

you wish were never yours,

threads of conflict,

control, neglect, pressure,

and the shadows beyond.

Lessons carved

through punishments;

you learn that hiding

feels safer than shining,

if honesty invites pain.

Rare sparks of belonging,

fragile, fleeting,

yet still tied

to the place you call home.

Childhood holds

the brightest corners,

brighter than your

teenage storms or

the weary weight of age,

because the world

was simpler then.

You may become

the flaws you feared,

or you may choose

to rise above them—

to build something kinder.

For wings

are the chances you take

to rescue yourself.

The stories you tell.

The music you breathe.

The dreams you chase.

The visions you dare.

Friends who steady you,

pulling you forward,

believing in you

sometimes more deeply

than the family you share.

Do not fold your hope.

Tomorrow may hold

a gentler sunrise.

Roots may weigh heavy,

and wings may falter,

but both are needed.

One steadies you.

One lifts you.

Together they whisper—

you are unfinished,

you are still becoming.