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I Am Weak
I'm the weak, pathetic butterfly
with last night's mud and tears
streaked on my fragile wings,
struggling to fly
like there's no gravity
holding me down
and I am free in the air.
Or am I the moth
dressed in grey and black
and other drab colors
that help me blend in the night,
staying invisible at night
as I flutter towards the light
to have myself burned?
I'm the girl who sobs
into her pillow,
so no-one hears my cries
that are filled with silent screams
and sees that my nights
are filled with nightmares of death and fear
and broken glass streaming down my face,
cutting and staining my face in doing so.
Am I like the sky,
who freely cries
with bittersweet tears
running down its face
yet not caring who's looking?
Am I weak to your eyes,
because I wish to be vulnerable?
Because I wish my heart
to be as open as my face?
Do you see me not as strong
just because I am being honest?
Because I'm the girl,
who's a weakling.
Who slips through the cracks in the dark
as I care and love
and be vulnerable because of this.
Because for trying to have a heart
in this hurting world.
Because in my weakness I am strong,
I am weak and that's just who I am.
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Quite a few people have said that I'm strong. I wish they knew that I didn't feel as strong as they thought I was. I've felt scared, scared enough that I've wanted to kill myself repeatedly yet somehow still be alive. Which of course, doesn't make sense. Makes sense because I don't make sense, lol; I've never made sense, so it's not surprising.
I suppose because of my past, I've had to be strong. For my family and for myself, even though I didn't really try for myself. If that makes sense. I guess in a way, I am strong yet I'm not strong; I'm weak. Like it said in a song, "I'm strong on the surface but not all the way through."
I still get frightened, I still feel weak. I am weak. That's just who I am. But in my weaknesses I am strong, somehow. I am strong when I am weak.
So, weak I shall be, because it is where I can be vulnerable and be strong at the same time. I am weak yet I am strong, and I don't care. I'm weak.
Hopefully, this all made sense and this didn't drive you crazy from plain old me. Thank you for taking the time to read this, if you are. :)
P.S. About the image of the dandelion, in a way I'm like that. Weak yet strong like a flower and like all the other things I've written in my poem.