Sam & I AM

They cheer for my ashes,
call the smoke divine.
But they never breathed
where I burned inside.

The hands that shaped me
forgot to stay.
Now I build altars
from the parts they threw away.

I am muscle remembering
every scream it hid.
The skin forgave the blade,
but the blade never did.

They marvel at my standing,
as if the ground were kind.
But mercy’s just the echo
that pain leaves behind.

They paint my fractures golden,
call the damage proof of grace.
But I see road maps in these scars,
paths I carved to leave this place.

My lungs still pull the fire in,
a reflex, not a prayer.
The breath betrays the body,
But still I keep it there.

There’s rhythm in the ruin,
a pulse beneath decay.
Not courage, just the suffering,
of living anyway.

I stretch until I splinter,
and they clap for how I shine.
They do not see the breaking,
only the light that leaks in time.

I’ve been the proof they wanted,
the “must see” motivational speech.
But I was never meant to be
a miracle on repeat.

Don’t call it glory when I stay.
Don’t name it grace when I survive.
It’s only that the body learned
everyday, how not to die.

It’s the breath I take when no one sees,
the quiet war beneath my peace.
Not victory, but the will to be,
the art of breaking gracefully.

The scar that hums, as the soul’s defense,
beauty born from consequence.
Don't applaud for its rehearsed brilliance;
there is no honor in resilience.