I wasn’t born complete or clean
I came in crooked, split at the seams
Every day a quieter fix
Every scar a lesson stitched in
The mirror never told me “done”
Just showed the work that wasn’t run

I learned the weight of waiting long
The cost of being almost strong

This is the height, this is the climb
When want and will align in time
When thought runs clear, when taste turns true
When judgment holds and doesn’t move
Not standing tall, not standing loud
Just standing firm without a doubt

Some fall green from the branch too soon
Call the ground their afternoon
Some never quite finish the frame
Always missing just one name
I stayed hanging in the light
Learning when to drop, when to fight

I let the seasons do their work
Let patience shape what haste would hurt

This is the height, this is the round
Where loose ends meet without a sound
Speech grows wise, the hands stay clean
The will becomes a steady thing
Not crowned by cheers, not chased by fame
Just known by weight, just known by name

Not by noise, but by tone
Not by speed, but how you hold the road
Doors close once, they stay that way
Choices don’t beg to be replayed
Rooms grow still when you arrive
Not fear—just gravity inside

The careful ones pull up a chair
No applause hanging in the air
They trust the silence that you bring
The cost of every word you sing
Late bloomers call the frost their proof
I bloomed when I could stay the truth

This is the height, the quiet peak
Where strength no longer needs to speak
Where nothing’s missing, nothing frayed
Just a full circle finally made
Not above, not looking down
Just standing whole on solid ground

I was never meant to rush the end
I was meant to finish as a man