In the quiet of dawn, I carve out space,
A chisel, a brush, a heart in my hands.
Flaws like cracked marble, I polish with grace,
No need for the world when the mirror understands.
Sweat on my brow, I rewrite every seam,
Threads of old doubts, I pull them apart.
Breathe deep, stand taller—this growth is my dream,
Till the cracks turn to stories, a beautiful art.