I am not strong.
What I am is a fabled construct of brave,
an illusion of the impenetrable,
plucking miracles from the sky
until all I am is starlight in the flesh
sparkle so bright you can only love me from a distance,
only wave your affections over
when the sun goes down.
I haven’t always been this way
a walking dream deferred,
heart locked away
I have adapted for the times,
taught my body to carry weight
without the luxury of collapse.
But these walls do not hold themselves up.
They lean on quiet longing,
on the bones of the person I used to be.
moulded by my silence,
cemented with swallowed prayers,
the illusion of a fortress
hiding that I am ruin holding its breath.
never truly remembering
that I surround something worth saving.
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