Originally posted June 24th, 2016
More than once I have been told,
To never love my growing old.
Teased about weight, height, color, or age–
To be ashamed to turn any page.
My soul is weathered and it’s worn
Has been this way since I was born.
I defy the ones that jest
For I do know my heart the best.
I may not have material crutches,
Imperfect love binding within its clutches.
I walk this talk and make amends,
Wear my family’s crown proudly, and have jewels for friends.
I brought love once into this world,
Dreams so fiery I have unfurled.
Still I dance, and still I sing,
And still look bright at what life will bring.
They try to tear me down with words,
With the bitterness of flightless birds.
Yet still I launch–clipped wings still fly,
And dare write my stars across the sky.
Their brokenness does not consume see–
It cannot bend and will not break me.
They long to write my story’s end,
But it is Spirit, MY author, who holds this pen.
Photo Credit: Pixabay