Who am I?
I am a dream that refused to stay quiet.
Not the dream they handed me
but the one I found
curled in my ribs like a second heartbeat.
Passion is not a shout.
It is the way I wake before dawn
to chase a vision no one else can see.
It is the trembling hand that still draws the map
to a place not yet built.
I have loved my dream
long before it loved me back.
I have fed it with empty pockets,
sung to it in failure,
held it like a child through the night.
Passion made me stubborn.
Dream made me brave.
Together, they made me
And named me.
Who am I?
I’m the one you read beneath this ink.
the one who feels the world deeply
and still chooses to shape it.
the clay still breathing in the Potter’s hand,
the song still rising past the singer’s reach.
I am the fire and the wish.