To the founder who has met the edge
- Lucy Down
- Apr 4
- 1 min read
To the founder who has met the edge,
when the weight was too much,
when the voice in her head was loud and cruel,
whispering, "You’re not enough."
To the one who stood in the thick of the dark,
when the dream felt too heavy to hold,
when everything screamed “Let it go”—
but still she held on, soul deep in trust.
To the one who broke open,
who wept in silence,
who reached the point
where quitting felt like mercy.
And yet—
A whisper.
A flicker.
The quiet voice of her heart,
still beating beneath the noise.
The ember in her soul,
refusing to go out.
Fanned gently
by those who held her in belief,
who saw her—
even when she couldn’t see herself.
And so she rose.
Not polished,
but powerful.
Not unscarred,
but unshaken.
The cracks became her constellation—
a map of where the light got in.
The pain became purpose.
The fall became flight.
She is the phoenix,
made of ashes and awe,
of tenderness and tenacity.
And now—
now she knows:
This is her time.
She was never late.
She is right on time.
~ Kindred Founders ~
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