I Was the Harvest

I met him not in fairytales, but in debt I dared to wear

Built his dreams with borrowed silence, stitched his pride with prayer

He was stone, and I—a mason, hands trembling in the rain

Feeding futures into fire, hiding heartbeats in the flame

But I forgot to name myself

While naming stars for someone else

He may rise, they may clap

But don’t forget who laid the tracks

I was the ladder, I was the light

The voice behind his sleepless nights

He posted her, gave her the sky

Left no words, just passed me by

But I won’t stay buried in the past

I was the season—

I was the harvest.

He walked in courtroom rhythms born from echoes of my grace

I was silence in his triumph, now erased without a trace

No goodbye, just pretty pixels in a caption he called “new”

But I’m still nursing blueprints of the home we never drew

They called me bitter—I just bled

Where I once gave love instead

He may shine, they may toast

But I was air when he was ghost

I held the roof, I held the storm

Made a house from hearts worn torn

She gets the photo, I get the ache

But I won’t break for his mistake

I wasn’t just part of his past—

I was the reason—

I was the harvest.

I’m done whispering to ghosts

Done planting in dead soil

I rise with ink and iron now

Forged by tears and trial

No closure, no reply

But I found me—

And that’s enough to testify

He may rise, he may boast

But I was woman, not a ghost

I held his dreams, I bore the cost

I gave strong, and I loved lost

So sing my story, loud and true—

For every soul that’s bled like blue

We are not what they discard

We are the rising—

We are the harvest.

I was a season…

But I was the harvest.