Atlas Unbound

I wake the morning with a fist that's open now,
My past a folded map I never read aloud.
I carve a door where walls were prophesied to stay,
And turn the heavy silence into cabaret.
The ghosts that used to anchor now just annotate,
I burn no bridges — only illuminate.

I'm not the wreckage, I'm the wind that clears the dust,
A living proof the fragile learn to trust.
No crown of sorrow, just my head held in the light,
I make the broken beat a rhythm for the night.

I walk through hollow halls and name them ballrooms of release,
A soldier of the aftermath who marches into peace.
The years that tried to break me turned to marble in my spine,
I turned the bitter echo into vintage wine.
My heart's a steady compass, not a wound to dress,
I step into the chaos and simply call it "yes".

I'm not the wreckage, I'm the wind that clears the dust,
A living proof the fragile learn to trust.
No crown of sorrow, just my head held in the light,
I make the broken beat a rhythm for the night.