If one more person reminds me of my strength I think I will scream out in unadulterated aching shrills until it all pours out of me and topples onto every last one of them. I will muster the last ounces of my strength to vomit the very words they want to pin me to, “Here, here is all my strength”.
It seems I was born strong all 10lbs of me landed here in some packaged labeled “strength”. Every muscle on my 5’8 frame is evidence and fact that I am still here standing through insurmountable upheavals to prove it. Yes, you are strong, my body concedes.
But can I be more?
Can I also be fragile and gentle and vulnerable and at times frail and able to fall apart like other women do
Can you look at me with concern and empathy and not just wide eyed admiration and soft echos of unspoken envy
Can I be more than the valleys I’ve trudged through? More than the mountains I’ve climbed and the steep peaks I’ve made it to? More than the blistering storms i’ve weathered? More than The bleeding heart I’ve miraculously mended whole again and again and yet again.
Can I be more than this strength category you’ve placed me in crowing me in the glory of obstacles overcome?
Can I be more than your strong friend?
