The Lion Remembers

By the man I became.

I was broken, I won’t lie—

Heart torn open, left to cry.

I gave my soul, I gave my name,

And in return, I was handed shame.

They called me selfish, called me less,

Painted my love as a kind of mess.

But they didn’t see the nights I bled,

The prayers I whispered, the tears I shed.

I used to rage, to curse, to fight,

To drown in pain, alone at night.

But fire does more than burn—it forges,

And pain, when faced, slowly emerges

As strength.

I found God in the quiet—

Not in vengeance, not in riot.

He met me where I fell apart,

And lit a flame inside my heart.

I became the Lion—not because I roared,

But because I rose when I was floored.

Not perfect. Not unscarred.

But restored.

Now when memories knock like ghosts on my door,

I don’t answer with war anymore.

I answer with peace, forged through the trial—

And a smile that says: “You lost. I’m still worthwhile.”

I walk forward. Unshaken. Redeemed.

No longer what they said.

But everything I dreamed.