A Fragile Strength

I found the ropes

of unhealed wounds,

stitching in silence,

scarred-out survival

threading through time,

torn

but never torn apart.

Slowly bearing the weight

of history by hands

that is way too tired

to tremble, veins mapping

the battlefield of

broken beginnings,

knuckles pale with grip

on ghosts that never learned

to let go.

I am a paradox:

porcelain steel,

hurricane whisper,

candle burning against

the breath of a thousand storms,

flickering-but

never fading.

Don't mistake

surrender for these trembling hands,

don't call cracked armor

weakness, for even shattered glass

can caper with the light

and conjure fire.

I have bent but never broken,

fallen but never

forgotten how

to stand the quiet strength

of something soft refusing

to shatter, a whisper bearing

the weight of the world.

A fragile strength—

delicate, defiant,

unbreakable.