I was not born for ceilings,
nor rooms that shrink the lungs—
where light thins out
and breath feels borrowed.
Above me, the sky widens,
a quiet dare to become.
Like Icarus, I rose—
but I have studied the sun.
They say height comes with silence,
that wings are meant to fail,
yet in stillness, hope hardens,
and faith outlives fear.
They call the path jagged,
a cost etched into every step;
their voices fall like dust—
weightless, forgettable.
I do not inherit their limits.
I climb past doubt, past warning,
until the air knows my name—
and the sky makes room for me.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 9:23 AM UTC
I was not born for ceilings,
nor rooms that shrink the lungs—
where light thins out
and breath feels borrowed.
Above me, the sky widens,
a quiet dare to become.
Like Icarus, I rose—
but I have studied the sun.
They say height comes with silence,
that wings are meant to fail,
yet in stillness, hope hardens,
and faith outlives fear.
They call the path jagged,
a cost etched into every step;
their voices fall like dust—
weightless, forgettable.
I do not inherit their limits.
I climb past doubt, past warning,
until the air knows my name—
and the sky makes room for me.
They said the sky was dangerous.
I chose to understand it—and rise anyway.
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