She was born in a world that told her to stay,
To shrink, to obey, to fade away.
They gave her a voice but feared her sound,
So they built her a cage and called it “crowned.”

They taught her to smile when she wanted to weep,
To carry the burdens, to bury them deep.
To soften her edges, to silence her fight,
To dance in the dark, yet long for the light.

She learned to be quiet, to nod, to agree,
To ask for so little and give endlessly.
They said she was fragile, too gentle, too small—
Yet they never saw her rise after the fall.

For she has known heartbreak, and still she will love,
Has stumbled through storms, yet dreamed high above.
She’s walked through the fire and come out untamed,
Refusing to bow, refusing the shame.

She is not unbroken, not fearless or bold,
But forged in the moments the world left her cold.
Her scars are not weaknesses—look how they gleam,
Lined with the gold of the battles unseen.

She is not just quiet, not just strong,
Not just right, not just wrong.
She is laughter and longing, chaos and grace,
The fire, the flood, the night, and the space.

She does not rise because it is fair,
She does not rise because they care.
She rises for the girl she used to be,
For the woman inside who yearns to be free.

She rises for every voice still unheard,
For every dream deferred, every silenced word.
She rises for those who don’t yet believe,
That they, too, can fight, can hope, can breathe.

She does not rise because it is easy,
She rises because she must.
With love in her hands, with fire in her soul,
With every fall, she rises whole.