She Burned the Script

after still I Rise by Maya Angelou They said, "too loud, too wild, too much"— so she learned to burn with a softer touch. But thunder lived behind her face, and silence wore her fiercest grace. They carved her worth in smaller space, then crowned it "grace" to know her place. But she was made of deeper things— not ribbons, rules, or borrowed wings. She didn't rise to please their gaze, or fit inside their staged displays. The ground they gave was false, contrived— so she rewrote it just to survive. Now every step is storm and flame, they whisper wild when they say her name. But she's not theirs to dim or tame— She rose. She roared. she burned the game. ~hira ~