She wasn’t born from soft beginnings—
she came from fire, fists, and fate,
a child of chaos, grief, and hunger,
learning too soon how to wait.
She learned to read the room like a scripture,
to hush her light, to take the blame,
while love became a haunted whisper,
and silence carved her mother’s name.
Foster beds and hallway echoes,
curfews built from “don’t be seen.”
She stitched her heart with thread and daydreams,
wore warrior scars beneath her jeans.
She raised a child while still a child,
with hands that shook but held on tight,
and though the world gave her the shadows,
she still believed in softer light.
She’s slept on floors, on borrowed couches,
been the “yes” when no one stayed.
She gave when she had nothing left—
then rose again, unafraid.
A phoenix made of poetry,
a mother, healer, soul unbound—
she walks through life with roots and wings,
both buried deep and skyward-bound.
She doesn’t need a crown or title,
her glory hums in how she tries.
She breaks the cycles, lifts the others,
builds her future from goodbye.
Don’t call her lucky—call her legend.
Don’t call her broken—she’s reborn.
The girl who lived through every ending
just to teach herself the morn.
So if you’ve ever lost your center,
if you’ve ever felt alone—
she wrote this book to tell you gently:
you are the fire, not the stone.