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#overcomingadversity
From ashes, I rise, no crown, no name, Forged in fire, untamed by shame. Each fall, a step, each scar, a light, In darkness, I carve my endless fight. I seek no praise, no fleeting fame, I burn within, I am my flame. Not for the weak, nor for the crowd— I rise alone, unbroken, proud. The world may tremble, the storm may roar, But I will stand, forever more. For strength is born from deepest pain, And through the loss, I’ll rise again.
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Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 11:55 AM UTC
"Unyielding"
I lost, I broke, I burned to the ground, Yet from my ashes, my crown unbound. Through fire and fury, I carved my way, Not for the world, but for the price I’d pay. With sharpened mind and heart untamed, I faced the void and felt no shame. I reach for heights no soul has known, Not for praise, but to claim my throne. Where meaning blooms through love and pain, Where every scar is gold to gain. I’ll fall again—that truth I own, But in each fall, my strength has grown. I rise for me, for kin, for fire, To light the path and take it higher. Not for envy, nor for fame, But for love, for will, for the name. So let them watch, let them see, What man can be when truly free, When fire transforms to endless light, When loss becomes the fuel for might. Golden I rise, no crown I need, The gold within is all I’ll heed. I build, I climb, I break the chain— For in my soul, the gold remains.
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Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 11:55 PM UTC
"The Gold Remains"
every time you drink the sea i am left on an island and i walk for miles to find the shore and when i look up to see the sky you swallow it whole and i walk for miles to find the horizon and when i look to the stars you eat them, one by one and i walk for miles to find the moon and when i feel the tides begin to turn you drink the sea and i am left on a island and i walk for miles to find the shore and when i look up to see the sky... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ef0uZPNltE
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May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Stop drinking the **** sea
I It rained at each night's birth, and I wonder how things never go as we intended. Each howl is a reminder of how dark it gets as we soldier along the low visibility from the meconium we dump on ourselves. But we tunnel our way into that night sky, lapping up any spark and shadow -- teetering between what is and was become us. It shouldn't matter because it never did, not to you, not as much as it did to me. That's why the day came to you much earlier, and yet the rain still poured, murky and no matter how you clean it, it stains between skin and nails, and that spot where it all begins, between lung and air. I could breathe it in and drown out of water. II Funny as the rain goes farther away, thunder is heard more distinctly. Still trying to breathe, that was when you cut us off. One by one, choking through the daylight at night, while the windows shatter on the white-tile floor. "Water! I need water!" someone shouted. It was warm and cold at the same time, what my insides were telling me my outsides were feeling. Just then, some semblance of progression, a rhythm that tethered complacency began to show. Something made me believe it isn't suppose to be like this, but nothing showed me otherwise. The rain has stopped. III Blood and glass litter the once pristine and antiseptic. Shards get missed, but it doesn't matter. No one talks about those. It's made for an easy clean-up. It all sounds fishy. The smell was the problem, stuck to our hair, our skin, even the fresh linen covering our nakedness did not escape the memory of the congealed and spent. Our petrichor binds us all, until we're not anymore.
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May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
Birthing Season
I It rained at each night's birth, and I wonder how things never go as we intended. Each howl is a reminder of how dark it gets as we soldier along the low visibility from the meconium we dump on ourselves. But we tunnel our way into that night sky, lapping up any spark and shadow -- teetering between what is and was become us. It shouldn't matter because it never did, not to you, not as much as it did to me. That's why the day came to you much earlier, and yet the rain still poured, murky and no matter how you clean it, it stains between skin and nails, and that spot where it all begins, between lung and air. I could breathe it in and drown out of water. II Funny as the rain goes farther away, thunder is heard more distinctly. Still trying to breathe, that was when you cut us off. One by one, choking through the daylight at night, while the windows shatter on the white-tile floor. "Water! I need water!" someone shouted. It was warm and cold at the same time, what my insides were telling me my outsides were feeling. Just then, some semblance of progression, a rhythm that tethered complacency began to show. Something made me believe it isn't suppose to be like this, but nothing showed me otherwise. The rain has stopped. III Blood and glass litter the once pristine and antiseptic. Shards get missed, but it doesn't matter. No one talks about those. It's made for an easy clean-up. It all sounds fishy. The smell was the problem, stuck to our hair, our skin, even the fresh linen covering our nakedness did not escape the memory of the congealed and spent. Our petrichor binds us all, until we're not anymore.
Continue reading...
34
dredge in mud knee deep but sky high trudge the sludge plod the crud and form tracks nearly sighted look far to reach growth will follow
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Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
And the fallen