We grew up in humble families

We grew up in humble families
Where love filled the rooms, but survival shaped our days.
Old houses held our childhood memories,
While small towns echoed stories no one dared to tell.

Every meal felt like a miracle.
Getting to school demanded more than just willpower,
It took courage to show up when the journey itself felt like a battle.
And even when we made it to class,
Hunger pulled our focus away from the teacher’s words.

When sickness struck, fear settled in.
Hospitals seemed too far, and medical bills felt impossible to pay.
While others rested, we spent nights hoping the pain would fade,
Because rest wasn’t a luxury we could always afford.

Life never handed us anything easily.
We built our dreams from scraps,
And every small step forward met another roadblock.
Unpaid bills haunted our homes,
And the weight of survival often crushed the dreams we held close.

Still, we never chased after applause.
We didn’t hustle to impress or compete,
We simply fought to survive.
We knew that if we didn’t rise,
The same struggles would trap us forever.

We saw our parents lose battles they never deserved.
We watched their hopes fade under the weight of responsibilities.
And when no one else noticed their silent pain,
We felt it in the quiet moments.

That’s why we move differently.
We push forward with intention,
Not to outshine anyone,
But to break the cycles that tried to hold us back.

When others stop, we keep going.
When doors close, we knock louder,
Because giving up cannot be an option.

We carry a promise deep within us,
A promise to finish what our parents couldn’t.
And even when the weight grows heavy,
We remind ourselves…

We are not fighting for attention,
We are fighting for freedom.
To change the storyline,
And to win the battles…
Our parents never won.

The Hands That Never Rest by walking shadow poetry Kenya