a
weakness.
you seem to believe that is all i am;
a weakness that plagues your senses,
that plagues your life—
a weakness that many would exploit,
but
you
forget,
that is not what
or who
i am.
i am the strength you feel when i am
threatened,
i am the smiles
and the laughs
and the happiness you feel whenever the world has been saved—
whenever i have been saved.
i am the power you carry when proving you will not be beaten,
i am the hearts of all those who mean everything to you,
of everyone you work hard to protect.
but
you still believe me to be weak
when, in fact, i am the very opposite.
and pushing me away,
pushing those that care for you away,
will never turn your perception of me into any version of strength you
create.
you need
me
as i am.
and only when you accept that,
can i truly begin to help heal
your aching
heart.
YOU ARE READING
Short Story Collection
Historia CortaHere's where I'll put little things that I work on/have already written--just because. I might also put some poetry in here too.