And what makes you think I am weak?
Is it that I care?
Is it that I deem it important?
Is it that I take pride in it?
Or stitch it into my heart,
Strings made of sinew and
Sewing needles of hope.
What makes you think,
My mountains are weaknesses?
My obstacles are wounds
Or burdens?
What if instead,
They are the rungs of the ladder I climb?
And what makes you think I am weak?
YOU ARE READING
Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes
Short StoryShort stories, poems, snippets, scraps, scripts, and more...whatever I feel like writing. Kind of a dumpster where I just dump what I'm thinking, but it doesn't smell as bad. I hope. Copyright 2014 (c) by DiscardedOpus13 All rights reserved. No part...
