Kimo SoundsRise Steady

I climb from where the floor gave out,
one rung at a time. Stitching torn edges with fingers that learned to mend.
Old wounds start callousing the way to lay new scaffolding.
I, I plant small anchors under every unsure footfall.
Breathing in, I turn each bruise into a step of warmth.
They line the parade with demands, hands waving quick designs.