If I Am to Be
If I am to be strong, do not make me a mountain,
left to stand tall and unyielding, a stark monument
to loneliness and unwavering stoicism.
Do not make me stone and slate, if strength is what you see.
So hard that the howling at my sides could chip away my edges
and leave me intact, but as inhabitable as a wasteland
If I am to be strong, let life paint me violet and clotted claret.
Let it make me a bruise, spread across the softness of my curves.
Let ever blow to my flesh be a badge. Let it speak not to every time I've fallen down,
but to each time I've gotten up.
Make me an ember buried deep in the ashes, waiting to be stoked
by hands who know how to unleash the phoenix inside.
A crocus who's bowed head lurks just beneath the cracked, frozen soil,
knowing that spring is coming.
(It is. Just wait, little thing.)
If I am to be strong, make me the roar of a mother protecting her young,
the sweat on a warriors brow after battle.
Make me the roiling sea, or the beating sun; a force, no dou