Helpless
Dear Momma,
You are very into metaphors.
You like to compare me to roses.
Beautiful to look at but get close enough
and you’ll see the thorns.
You shake your head as you talk about
my flaws.
Maybe one day someone will finally
prune them.
You are very into metaphors.
You like to compare me to bulls.
Bucking and kicking.
I am angry.
Every part of me just wants to be left alone.
You sigh as you pity the man who will one day have to
tame me.
You are very into metaphors.
You like to compare me to temples.
Built to love you
respect you
praise you.
A temple is beautiful.
A temple is strong.
But without a force to worship
a temple is
nothing.
You are very into metaphors.
You like to compare me to things
that need.
I am a rose
but I do not need pruning.
My thorns are fierce.
They do not need to be fixed.
They want to be
loved,
respected,
praised.
I am a bull
but I do not need taming.
See me for who I am.
Love me for who I am.
No force on Earth could
tame this spirit.
But why would anyone want to?
I am a temple
but I am not a building.
My walls cannot crack. My roof cannot cave in.
I am a forest with wind whistling through.
Flowers sprout all around me.
Trees sway as I sing my praises to Mother Nature.
When devastation reigns I will grow back.
Because I am beautiful.
I am strong.
I am everything I need to be.
I am everything I want to be.
See me for who I am.
Love me for who I am.
Or don’t.
Because I don’t
need you.
And that is okay.
Love,
I am not Helpless.
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