Stepping Stones to the Man I Became

Mhm... yeah... hmm... I see the boy with open knees, dust on his hands, blood on his jeans. He didn’t know what pain could mean, he only knew he fell. He got back up and looked around, too proud to cry, too young to drown. A little shame without a sound, a story he would never tell. And every small thing left a mark, every bruise became a line. Not a legend, not a spark, just a life becoming mine. Stepping stones to the man I became, little scars, little lights, little names. All I lost, all I held, all I failed to explain — just stepping stones to the man I became. I see the boy at seventeen, too tall for childhood, still unseen. Half a man and in between the silence and the noise. He learned to laugh before he knew how much of him was hiding too. He played the part, he made it through with all the other boys. Schoolyard dust and locker doors, sports fields under winter rain. Trying hard to look like more than the fear he couldn’t name. Stepping stones to the man I became, little scars, little lights, little names. All I lost, all I held, all I failed to explain — just stepping stones to the man I became. There was a girl I never told, her hair was dark, her hands were cold. I loved her in a way so old I could not speak it then. There was a friend who knew my face, before ambition took his place. We built a world in borrowed space and lost it God knows when. First love burns without a flame, first grief teaches you to stand. Some goodbyes don’t have a name, some leave fingerprints in sand. Stepping stones to the man I became, little scars, little lights, little names. All I lost, all I held, all I failed to explain — just stepping stones to the man I became. Then came the years of getting by, clean shirt, straight back, tired eyes. Learning when to speak or lie, learning when to bend. Work and bills and family rooms, morning coffee, evening news. Winning things I thought I’d lose, losing things I thought would end. Nothing special, nothing grand, no great war, no promised land. Just a boy becoming man one ordinary day. A little pride, a little shame, a little hunger without name. A thousand times I missed the aim and still became this way. Mhm... yeah... ordinary days... hmm... still became this way... Stepping stones to the man I became, little scars, little lights, little names. All I lost, all I held, all I failed to explain — just stepping stones to the man I became. Stepping stones through the years, through the rain, through the love, through the work, through the blame. Not a hero, not a saint, not a man without pain — just the shape of a life in the man I became. The boy is still here. The man lets him stay. Mhm... yeah... one ordinary day.