What will your life be like in three years?

Some of us were not handed soft mornings—
no lullabies in the wind,
no hands to catch the fall.
We were given chaos,
grief like a second skin,
betrayal that taught us
how to walk without flinching.

Still, we bloom.

Not because the soil was kind,
but because we learned
how to root ourselves
in the middle of the storm.

We remember silence—
the kind that echoes
when no one shows up.
So now,
we show up.

We carry others
not out of ease,
but out of knowing
what it means to be dropped
and still rise.

We are here—
not because it was easy,
but because we refused
to disappear.