If you stand beside my resting place
and speak my name with pride,
and tell the world I fought through flames
like you stood at my side.
If you say I carried storms alone
and never chose to run,
and praise the fight it took to stand
until the war was won.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while breath is mine to keep.
Don’t save your voice for gravestones
when I’m buried deep in sleep.
If you call me brave when I am gone
and say I walked with light,
why were those words so hard to speak
when I was in the fight?
Where were those voices in the dark
when hope was hanging thin?
Where were those hands of loyalty
when I was breaking in?
You don’t prove love at funerals.
You prove it while someone fights.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while my shadow walks the ground.
Don’t wait until my silence
is the loudest thing around.
Because I built the bones I stand on now
through nights that cut like knives,
through learning how to stand alone
when truth divides our lives.
Not from crowds who love a story told
once pain becomes a tale,
but from the few who stayed with me
when stronger hearts would fail.
They never asked for praise or gain
or credit for their stay,
they simply stood beside the fire
when others walked away.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while my heart still takes the air.
Love that waits for funerals
arrives when I’m not there.
And truth is this—I know my worth
and how this life was made,
with those who held the line with me
not those who turned and strayed.
So if one day you speak my name
and say you always cared,
remember who was truly there.
Say it while I’m breathing.
Not over my grave.
If it’s real—say it to my face.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 6:24 AM UTC
If you stand beside my resting place
and speak my name with pride,
and tell the world I fought through flames
like you stood at my side.
If you say I carried storms alone
and never chose to run,
and praise the fight it took to stand
until the war was won.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while breath is mine to keep.
Don’t save your voice for gravestones
when I’m buried deep in sleep.
If you call me brave when I am gone
and say I walked with light,
why were those words so hard to speak
when I was in the fight?
Where were those voices in the dark
when hope was hanging thin?
Where were those hands of loyalty
when I was breaking in?
You don’t prove love at funerals.
You prove it while someone fights.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while my shadow walks the ground.
Don’t wait until my silence
is the loudest thing around.
Because I built the bones I stand on now
through nights that cut like knives,
through learning how to stand alone
when truth divides our lives.
Not from crowds who love a story told
once pain becomes a tale,
but from the few who stayed with me
when stronger hearts would fail.
They never asked for praise or gain
or credit for their stay,
they simply stood beside the fire
when others walked away.
Say it while I’m breathing,
while my heart still takes the air.
Love that waits for funerals
arrives when I’m not there.
And truth is this—I know my worth
and how this life was made,
with those who held the line with me
not those who turned and strayed.
So if one day you speak my name
and say you always cared,
remember who was truly there.
Say it while I’m breathing.
Not over my grave.
If it’s real—say it to my face.
Sometimes people find their voice when it’s already too late.
This piece is about saying what matters while someone is still here to hear it—and recognising the few who were truly there when it mattered most.
