Relentless…Rising…Never Done

I was never one to wait for the world to notice,
To sit with folded hands and hope for change.
I was raised to know that the rhythm of effort
Beats louder than the wishful heart.

My mother taught me with baton in hand,
That the weight of work is a sacred thing.
A lesson twirled in calloused palms—
You get out what you put in.

And I have put in everything.

I have known the devastation of empty palms,
The ache of reaching for something unearned.
I have seen the hollow eyes of those who waited,
Wanting the fruits but planting no seeds.

So I lace up tight, rise before the sun,
The hum of ambition thrumming through my veins.
No shortcuts, no half-measures—
Only sweat, only fire, only forward.

I push past pain, past fatigue, past fear,
The echoes of doubt are drowned by motion.
Sun up to sundown, the work is relentless,
But so am I.

I am carving a future with hands unshaken,
Building a legacy with each aching stride.
For my family, for my dreams, for the woman I am—
For the woman my mother raised me to be.

I run, I push, I hustle, I rise,
Not just for the life I want, but for the change I demand.
Not just for my own reflection, but for the world I will shape.

And I am proud.
Not just of what I have built,
But of the hands that built it.
The hands that never stopped, never slowed, never settled.

I am not done.
I will never be done.
Because there is always another dream to chase,
Another fire to light, another step to take.

I am relentless.
And I am rising.