Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Uplift to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
They said I was too small to win, and they said I was too slow,
But I have got a hidden strength that only I can know.
It is not in my muscles, and it is not in my name,
It is in the stubborn ember that refuses to be tamed.
I fell in every practice, and I lost the early games,
But I wrote down every lesson, and I fanned the little flames.
The grinding of the grindstone makes the sharpest blade of all,
And the pressure makes a diamond, and the hard road makes us tall.
So when they laugh, I let them laugh, and I go on with my part,
For the answer to a doubter is the silent, working heart.
And when I cross that finish line, no trophy will I need,
For the proof is in the journey, and the grit is in the deed.
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Commentary
Grit is the stubborn quality that outlasts doubt. This poem calls it an ember, one that critics cannot see but that keeps burning through every loss.
“They said I was too small to win, and they said I was too slow,” but the speaker has “a hidden strength that only I can know.” It is “not in my muscles” but “in the stubborn ember that refuses to be tamed.” The speaker “fell in every practice” and “lost the early games,” but “wrote down every lesson.”
“The grinding of the grindstone makes the sharpest blade of all, and the pressure makes a diamond.” When others laugh, the answer is “the silent, working heart.” At the end, “no trophy will I need, for the proof is in the journey.”