Inspired by my lived experiences this poem is a depiction of persistence, what it feels like to continue to try ice skating uphill, It is a reflection on how we survive, how we continue to try to get to something new through reframing, by surrendering, by offering grace often to ourselves.
There is a knowing that keeps me safe. It’s not the kind of safety that shields me from harm, but the kind that anchors me when harm comes.
It’s the knowing that I am held—not just by memory or belief, but by something older, deeper, more enduring.
It’s the way my breath returns to me after grief. The way my body remembers how to soften after bracing for impact.
This is knowing, this is what is woven into my skin, into the way I move through silence, into the way I offer my hands even when they are tired. It is the quiet voice that says, you are not alone, even when no one else is speaking.
This insistence, this knowing, is what allows me to keep showing up. To keep creating, even when the words come slow.
To keep loving, even when the heart feels worn. To keep believing, even when the path disappears. It is the part of me that refuses to forget who I am, where I come from, and what I carry.
And in that remembering, I find my safety—not in certainty, but in presence. Not in perfection, but in the pulse of something that has never stopped moving through me.
A belief in things not yet seen, by Sam Floyd is a depiction of persistence, what it feels like to continue to try ice skating up hill what it takes to live with complex post traumatic stress. This is how we survive, how we still try to make it too something new.