Becoming Anyway

she is whole—still human
carrying both fear and fire

she is stepping into herself now
becoming yourself is beautiful, but it is not easy

she rises anyway
she becomes anyway
she holds her own light

not the loud kind
not the kind that blinds a room

but a quiet glow
that refuses to disappear

some days it flickers
some days it burns steady and sure
some days the wind of old voices
tries to press it low

but she cups it in both hands
learning the shape of its warmth
that it was never borrowed
never given

it was always hers

and slowly—
the dark around her
begins to look less like a threat
and more like a sky

waiting for stars