#risefromashes
I have walked through shadows darker than night,
Felt hands that should have held crush me with fright.
I have known the pain that no one should see,
Yet still I rise, still I fight, still I breathe free.
My little warrior’s laugh is the anchor in storm,
A tiny heart keeping me steady and warm.
Crow’s spirit whispers, steady and near,
A light in the chaos, a voice I hear.
I brace for the worst, hope for the best,
Scars are my armor, instincts my test.
I read the lies, the danger, the signs,
I protect what is real, through endless lines.
The world misunderstands, judges, and mocks,
Labels the vigilance I cannot unbox.
But I am hardwired, born of fire and pain,
Every loss, every tear, every scar leaves a gain.
I am Phoenix, I am flame, I am bone,
I rise from the ashes, never alone.
Through trauma, through love, through chaos and fight,
I carry my little warrior, my flame, into the light.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 1:24 PM UTC
They call me defensive.
They call me aggressive.
They call me unpredictable.
As if survival is a crime.
As if standing for my truth is hostility.
As if refusing to be small is chaos.
I am defensive because every hand that should have held me hit me instead.
Because every voice that should have loved me spoke betrayal and silence.
I am aggressive because I have fought to breathe when the world pressed me to my last gasp.
Because I have clawed through pain ignored by systems, dismissed by the people who were meant to protect me.
I am unpredictable because trauma does not follow rules, because fire does not stay still. Because I have had to learn to survive in a world that refused to see me.
They see a flash of my anger and call it hostility. They see a wall of defence and call it stubbornness. They see me rise from ashes and call it too much.
I have been a child in care
I have been beaten to my last breath.
I have grown up in a system that could not see the truth because it chose its own story over reality.
I have lived in the cracks of assumptions and survived the spaces they said I could not.
I have carried every failure inflicted on me, every injustice ignored, and I am still here.
So yes, I am defensive.
Yes, I am aggressive.
Yes, I am unpredictable.
But these labels are not the fire in my chest.
They are not the strength in my hands.
They are not the love I carry for my child, nor the loyalty I hold for those who truly saved me.
I am fire.
I am survival.
I am the voice that refused to be silenced.
I am the truth they could not erase.
I am rise.
I am rise.
I am rise.
— Anonymous _Flame 🔥
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 4:52 AM UTC
When I say hope,
I don’t mean wishing on stars
or soft, fragile optimism
that shatters at the first storm.
I mean
breathing through a panic attack
and choosing not to disappear.
I mean waking up
after dreaming everyone you love has gone
and checking the room
just to make sure love is still breathing.
Hope is not gentle.
It is stubborn.
It is defiant.
It is a phoenix standing in ashes
refusing to call it the end.
When I say faith,
I don’t mean blind belief
in systems that failed me
or voices that judged me
without ever touching the truth.
I mean faith in the invisible thread
that ties souls together—
an infinity distance cannot cut.
I mean believing
that my son’s laugh
is louder than the stories they wrote about me.
I mean trusting
that the little warrior
who tried to stand before he could walk
will stand taller than every whisper.
Faith is knowing
that love that saved you
was not a mistake.
Faith is knowing
that what kept you alive
was real—
even if others chose not to see it.
When I say hope,
I mean I will get back up
even when I feel like a ghost
walking through my own life.
When I say faith,
I mean I trust
that truth does not panic.
Truth does not beg.
Truth does not chase approval.
Truth waits.
Truth stands.
Truth burns.
Hope is the quiet whisper:
“Stay.”
Faith is the voice that answers:
“Rise.”
And when they say it’s over—
hope says, “Not yet.”
When they say you’re finished—
faith says, “Watch me.”
When the silence feels heavier than grief,
when the waiting feels endless,
when the nights stretch longer than memory—
I rise.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because I’m untouched.
Not because I’m unscarred.
But because fire does not apologise for burning.
When I say hope and faith,
I mean this:
I am still here.
I am still standing.
I am still loving.
And everything they tried to reduce me to
is ash beneath my feet.
I am not the ruin.
I am the rise.
— Anonymous _Flame 🔥
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 4:35 AM UTC
I allow myself to bloom,
to crack the shell,
to break the cocoon,
and be born again—
stronger, braver,
more furious for life.
I allow myself to shed the past,
to wear my armor of fire,
and face the world—
even if I am not yet strong,
even if I don’t know the way,
even if I must crawl first.
I allow myself
to change my life.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 7:38 PM UTC
Do not go gently into the night,
Do not tell me what I can’t,
For I’m like fire.
I will rise again...
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC