First Light
a sprout
from soil and doubt,
tender, trembling, shy—
a whisper beneath the sky.
each line of green I send above
is shaped by pain, by hope, by love.
though winds may bite and shadows stay,
I rise in my own quiet way.
not loud, not fast, not fully sure,
but soft, and real, and growing pure.
the world may stomp, the rains may fall,
but I will reach despite it all.
for fragile things can still be strong—
and roots that hurt can still grow long.
watch me stretch through tear and sun,
my bloom of self has just begun.
