Rooted Rising

I walk with books, not shoes of gold, A dream stitched tight in hands grown bold. From streets where silence fills the air, To classrooms lit with whispered prayer. Hispanic heart, both fierce and kind, With stories etched in every line. Though coins are few, my will runs deep, I plant my hopes where others sleep. The world may doubt, but I believe— Justice is more than what we grieve. I rise, I speak, I claim my name, Not just to strive, but to reclaim.