They tell you to be calm,
to be pretty,
to be strong
as if your chest can just stop pounding,
as if they don’t know that pretty hurts,
as if you can keep building yourself up
while your mind pushes you back down
They assume that your broken heart
can simply mend on its own,
that daylight can heal
your blackbird soul,
that the silent wolf
that prowls under your skin
understands what it means
to begin again
And, I can hear the fear
in your shaky voice,
the faded whispers of worry
still hanging in the air
But, love, they just don’t see –
you are already all of those things
and so much more
Breath of Words© 6/4/17
photo: Katia Chaushev