Scorched

Yeah. I've been the architect of my own quiet Disaster. Stacking polite little lies, Hoping the structure would last. But the foundation was cracked, every beam was a Debtor. So I'm burning the blueprint and writing a Better one. No more waiting for permission from Ghosts in my head. I'm torching the attic, I'm clearing the bed. They said, "Be careful with fire, you might burn What you need." But I'm only burning the weeds. I am the arsonist of my old self. I am the fire that cleanses the shelf. I will rise scorched, with smoke still in my Lungs. A monument of everything I've overcome And flung. The fire didn't kill me, It just showed me what was true. And from the ashes, something fierce And beautiful grew. Scorched. Scorched. Scorched. They wanted me quiet, wanted me small. Wanted me grateful for the crumbs that would fall. But hunger's a teacher that cradles can't know. And I've been feasting on the seeds I, I, I didn't sow. Now I'm standing in the clearing where the old House stood. And the air tastes different, And the air tastes good. I'm not rebuilding what I had, I'm making it New. And the first stone laid is the truth I withdrew. I am the archive of every lesson. I am the fire that never forgives. I will rise scorched, with smoke still in my Lungs. A monument of everything I've overcome And flung. The fire didn't kill me, It just showed me what was true. And from the ashes, something fierce And beautiful grew. Scorched. Scorched. Scorched. And still standing.