“My dark days made me strong. Or maybe I already was strong, and they made me prove it.”
― Emery Lord, When We Collided
Many have said that I am strong
at this moment I am doubting them.
What is strength?
Crying in my pillow at night?
Missing my Love whose life
I tried so hard to save?
How could grief —
the endless feeling of
being utterly shattered,
aimless, and
scarred beyond recognition
make people perceive me as strong
when I feel weak?
Perhaps the difficult process
of putting the broken pieces
back together while
staring the disappointment
of death in the face,
then testing the waters
of trying to live,
starting to laugh,
and begin again
even through tears
can soften the
hard scar tissue of grief
that remains?
But what if the scars
will make me stronger
than my previous self
and their strength and shield
are meant to show me that
the only life I can really save
is my own?
214 & 26/365 XO Lisa
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