We Survived What Was Meant To Kill Us

*WE SURVIVED WHAT WAS MEANT TO KILL US*

We survived what was meant to kill us,

Not because we were strong,

But because we had no permission to die there.

We survived the nights that had no morning,

The kind of nights where prayers bounced off the ceiling,

Where the chest became heavy,

And breathing itself felt like work.

We survived betrayal,

Not from strangers, but from the mouths that once called us brother,

From hands we held that let go in the middle of the storm.

We survived the shame,

The whispers behind our backs,

The doors that slammed before our feet touched the threshold,

The love that left without saying goodbye.

They dug a pit and called it our end,

They poured water on the fire in our eyes and waited for smoke,

They counted us out,

Wrote our obituary while we were still breathing.

But they forgot one thing —

We were not just flesh,

We were roots.

And roots don't die in the dark,

They grow deeper.

So we grew,

Through concrete,

Through curses,

Through crying that had no sound.

We survived the version of us that wanted to give up,

We buried that version and kept walking.

Look at us now,

Scarred, yes,

But still soft,

Still standing,

Still becoming.

What was meant to kill us,

Only introduced us to ourselves.