Rising Through Ruin

I woke up with the ceiling

looking smaller than before,

like the room had finally noticed

I don’t fit here anymore.

I wore failure like a jacket,

buttoned tight against the cold,

heard a hundred little warnings

from the mouths that never rolled.

They said, “Careful with the distance,

you can fall from where you climb.”

I said, “Funny how the frightened

always worship perfect timing.”

I know what the bottom sounds like.

I’ve heard every fucking word.

Now the floor is getting smaller

and the silence looks absurd.

I’m going upward,

upward, past the smoke and past the scar.

Who the hell gave you permission to decide how high we are?

I’m going upward,

upward, let the old world lose my name.

Every low that tried to bury me just taught my blood to

aim.

There were nights I called it wisdom

when I really meant I quit.

There were mornings I called patience

when I couldn’t face the risk.

Now the engine sounds different.

Now the fear has lost its throne.

Funny thing about the summit

— you don’t reach it staying known.

I’ve been broke enough to measure

every inch between the cracks.

So don’t tell me where I’m headed

like I owe the ground my back.

I’m going upward,

upward, past the doubt and past the dark.

You can keep your little ceiling — I was never built to

park. I’m going upward,

upward, with the wreckage in my veins.

Every low became a language.

Now I speak it when it rains.

Maybe I fall tomorrow.

Maybe I break tonight.

But I’d rather lose from altitude than disappear polite.

You can call it reckless.

You can call it pride.

I call it finally learning

I was never meant to hide.

I’m going upward,

upward, till the skyline knows my face.

I have slept beneath the basement.

I have earned a little space.

I’m going upward,

upward,

and I know what falling costs.

That’s exactly why the height means more to someone who got lost.

UPWARD. (UPWARD)