The cities of my past are riddled with ashes.

Hate. Disgust. Shame. The ever-burning embers.

But you will find mere remnants in those walls,

For I have risen.

The gardens of my future are riddles with burned stumps.

Hate. Disgust. Shame. Those roots lie charged.

But you will find mere sprouts in that ash,

For I have yet to fly.

The battlegrounds of my present are riddled with mines.

Hate. Disgust. Shame. The mines wait to explode. 

But you will find mere paths in the sand,

For I have learned to walk.

The mirrors of my home are riddles with cracks.

Hate. Disgust. Shame. Every punch I've taken at my reflection.

But now you will find mere smiles,

For I have learned to see.