Steel Ribs, Fragile Frame

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.