Manifesto

I stand at the edge of what they tried to bury, A soul too stubborn to sink, too wild to contain. I am the fire from ash, the pulse from dead veins, A manifesto not to be read, but to be felt in the bones. They thought silence would break me, That the weight of their words could reshape my skin. But I am the echo of every unspoken truth, The one who rises from what they never believed could bend. Every fracture in me, a lesson carved in scars, Every tear, a testament to what they couldn't see— How I bend, but do not break. How I rage and still, somehow, find my way back to the light. I will not apologize for the fire in my chest, For the hands that grasp and pull, For the soul that speaks with a voice that shakes the ground beneath. Let them cower in their quiet worlds of compliance, I choose to burn, to scream, to create from chaos. In every shadow, I find my power— In every corner of darkness, a new horizon. I will not be erased. I will not be molded into their idea of what I should be. This is my manifesto, Written not in ink, but in the relentless beat of my heart. No force will silence me. No wound will claim my voice. I am my revolution, My blood, my breath, my will to endure. This is not a plea. This is the roar of someone who has learned how to live with fire.