Unseen Hands

They saw the shell, but not the spark, They heard my voice, but missed the mark. They stitched their doubts into my skin, Wrote me off before I'd begin. They said, "Not ready," whispered, "No," As if my roots could never grow. As if the dreams I dared to hold Were simply too untamed, too bold. Yet hands they never thought could build, Are hands that shaped what dreams fulfilled. Each laugh, each sneer, each cold neglect, Became the stones beneath my steps. They trusted silence more than me But storms are born in quiet seas. And I, a tide they'd left unseen, Now rise beyond what they believed.