Steel Ribs, Fragile Frame
July 6, 2025
July 6, 2025
Do you hear that quiet roa
beneath the hush of your mornings
It's the tremor of bones relearning trust,
a symphony of breath staking its claim on life.
They rise before sunrise,
carry hope in their hollowed chests,
plug their hearts back in
even when every nerve trembles with warnings.
Positivity isn't sunshine here-
It's a set of steel ribs around a fragile flame,
an act of rebellion
against all the voices that hollered
"you're broken."
They lace courage into their shoelaces,
step forward
when the ground beneath them
remembers the weight of doubt.
Every smile they forge
is a demand for tomorrow—
a fist held high
in the court of their own becoming.
They don't wake up "positive."
They wake up determined:
to choose air over suffocation,
to choose voice over silence,
to choose life over
every script written to erase them.
This is not fragile optimism—
it is unyielding revolution.
A heart that survived a war
and still believes in morning.
Remember: when they say "I'm fine,"
listen for the echo of triumph beneath
the words—
the quiet promise
that even after the storm,
they stand.