You’ve spent years being the ground—
holding everyone’s weight,
catching their falls
while no one noticed
you were crumbling too.
You smile like it's stitched in,
even when your soul
wants to unthread.
You carry laughter
in pockets full of old sadness,
and somehow still give
more than you’ve ever received.
But hear this, quietly—
like a secret you forgot was yours:
You deserve to be the sky.
Not just the roof over others,
but the space to breathe,
to be light,
to thunder if you must,
to stretch without apology.
You are not a background.
You are the whole **** sunrise
someone's waiting to wake up to.