Fall Or Refining? Poem by Olorunkemi Kareem

Again and again I ask myself,
'Do I really know this art of words? '
The mirror of doubt stares back,
breaking the calm of my fragile ego.

Twice I have rested my books,
twice I have wrestled with fate.
The classroom awaits,
yet I stand unsure
promoted, or paused,
risen, or repeating?

Is this the fall the novels speak of,
the crumbling of a proud heart?
Or is it the quiet refining,
where pain bends me,
but does not break me?

My head throbs with questions,
yet in my chest a voice whispers:
Every great story knows darkness,
before its hero learns to shine.