The Weight of Dawn

I wake with stones

inside my chest,

with doubts that press

like morning fog.

The mirror shows

a fractured face,

a stranger worn

by silent wars.

The clock demands

another day,

another fight

I didn't choose.

But somewhere deep

beneath the weight,

a pulse remains

that will not quit.

I rise through pain

like roots through stone,

through crushing doubt

that seeks to hold.

The light breaks slow

across my room,

revealing cracks

and scattered strength.

I dress in armor

made of hope,

of stubborn breath

and wounded pride.

The door swings wide

to streets that hum,

to lives that move

without my fear.

I step outside

where no one knows

the battle fought

before I left.

I walk with ghosts

of who I was,

toward someone new

I'm learning still.