Resilience and Renewal in the Light of Dawn
In the quiet dusk of my reflection, a tale unfolds,
A whisper in the wind, a story seldom told.
With hands that tremble, yet are bold,
I face the mirror, the truths it holds.
I am a canvas, painted with the world’s disdain,
Marked by judgments, the invisible stains.
They say I am tarnished, but my spirit remains,
In a world that often forgets my name.
I scrub the surface, yet it clings like shadow,
A testament of battles, silent and shallow.
It’s not the dirt, but perceptions that harrow,
The essence of me, they attempt to narrow.
Yet here I stand, amidst the turmoil and strife,
A bearer of light, a warrior of life.
With every assault, every cut of the knife,
I find my strength, my will to survive.
This dirt, they say, that marks my skin,
Is not my shame, nor a sin.
It’s a cloak of battles, from without and within,
A story of resilience, a testament to win.
So I learn to wear it, not as a mark of shame,
But as armor, in this challenging game.
For every judgment, every flame,
I rise, a phoenix, untamed.
I wash not to cleanse, but to renew,
Not to hide, but to view.
A reflection of courage, bold and true,
A spirit unbroken, through and through.
So let the dirt cling, let it define,
Not the end, but the climb.
For in this journey, by design,
I am learning to accept, to shine.
In acceptance, I find my fight,
A beacon of hope, in the night.
For I am a woman, in my own right,
Embracing the dirt, embracing the light.