The Fire That Stayed

When the world tries to dim your light, let this poem remind you: the fire within doesn’t fade — it learns to burn smarter.

There were nights

when the silence was so loud,

I mistook my heartbeat for thunder.

I thought breaking

meant ending,

but I was only cracking open—

making space

for the strength I hadn’t met yet.

They said I was too soft,

too quiet,

too uncertain.

But softness is not weakness;

it’s the soil where courage grows.

I’ve fallen more times

than I’ve stood tall,

but each fall carved me

into something unshakable.

You don’t rise

because it’s easy.

You rise

because something inside you

refuses to stay buried.

The world will test your light—

some will try to dim it,

others will mistake it for arrogance.

But let it burn anyway.

Let it set fire

to every “not good enough,”

every “too late,”

every “maybe next time.”

Because you are not

a second chance at life—

you are the moment

the universe whispered:

try again, differently.

And you did.

And you will.

Because the fire that stayed

isn’t there to destroy—

it’s there to guide you home.