Not Who They Said I'd Be

I grew up hearing voices say, "People like you don't make a

way." I carried words I didn't choose, let them tell me what I'd

lose. Every time the road got hard, I turned around before the start.

I called it wisdom, called it truth, but it was fear dressed up

as proof. Then you sent someone who loved me enough to ask

me what I really trust, he said, "Is that the voice you hear?

Or is it God who brought you here?" You whispered louder than my past,

said, "I am holding you steadfast." I felt the prison walls give