Strong, you say. But my bones feel weak. From all of the nights I couldn't sleep and all of the meals I forgot to eat.
Brave, you say. But I haven't forgotten everytime I slipped into the bathroom to quietly shed the tears you never wanted to see.
Healed, you think. But only by looking at the piece of myself I shined up and gave to you. Not at the thousands of chipped, cracked and stained pieces I stand here and balance in my arms.
Magic, what I am. For everytime I have poured from an empty cup. For the broken hearts I kneel to mend with more broken tools. For finding, again, the light that was lost inside me after the storm.