Dusting Off

Fell again,
a familiar ache in these bones,
the ground, cold and rough,
whispers of loss in the dust.

But I remember,
the taste of earth isn’t new,
nor the sting of failure,
it’s just another language
the world speaks.

So I rise,
brush off the weight of it all,
grit clings skin like old regrets,
but it falls away,
one grain at a time.

I stand,
not taller,
not stronger,
but here,
again,
ready to walk,
to stumble,
to rise once more.

Each fall,
a step forward,
each scar,
a map of where I’ve been,
a reminder that I am still moving,
still here.

And the dust,
it always settles,
but I do not.