A spoken-word piece where the narrator refuses to surrender to fear or obstacles, using metaphors of sky and floor to describe internal struggle. They assert that each day belongs to them and insist on continual self-evolution, no matter how tired they become.
When the sky looks like a ceiling, when the floor feels like home, when every light dims and every fear illuminates, when eyes roll and doors lock, when the sun submits, the clouds emerge, gravity flexes and my knees tremble, there I will be. Never will I back down. Never will I cower or settle for the present when our future is limitless. I will get back up until I've made my point. Won my battle, secured my fight. The world is simple. Moving forward is not without its tests or lessons, but as long as I continue on, I evolve. With each step, I win. There's no running away or white flag or surrendering to the man in the mirror, the only conqueror capable of bringing me down. No, nothing will tell me what I can be. I will always be there, standing tall and ready. Not because Not because it's their will, but because each day is mine and not theirs. Look, I'm tired, I'm worn, but I'm here. And I'm ready for anything that waits ahead.
