In the Margin of Light

They told me life was a path you walked—straight, narrow, paved by those before you. But I was born sideways, spun by storms, cradled in silence, and stitched together by hope no one could see.

I have known ache like a second skin, worn joy like borrowed thread. I have failed forward, prayed backward, and laughed while limping.

So when I rise, it’s not because life lifted me.

It’s because I defined what rising meant.

Life doesn’t define you. You define your purpose in it.

That’s the line I etched on the inside of my ribs—the place that bruises first, but holds breath the longest.

If you meet me in your lowest hour, I’ll still call you whole.

Not for what you’ve done—

But for daring to become.