You called me fragile today.
I don't know why I was surprised to hear that from you.
You, the one I've spoken to about countless migraines,
The one I've told about the missing remnants of my soul,
The one I showed the silent nights with screaming voices to,
The one who's seen the invisible ink covering me with him,
The one who has been with me through so many years.
I suppose I get it.
Compared to you, I am a piece of glass.
A puff of wind blows me over like the first pig's house.
I tremble with the weight of thousands of sins constantly.
I struggle to do many physically demanding objectives.
But every time I shattered, I pieced myself back together.
I still have faced him every day without tears in my eyes.
I figured out a way to breathe while I was drowning.
I hiked up the mountain just the same as you.
I hiked the ten after that one too.
I don't know a whole lot,
But I feel like that should count for something.
So yes, I may be fragile,
But I don't think that means I'm not strong.
I don't think that breaking easily means I'm not brave.
I think I am brave.
Maybe even more than you.