Strength is not always a shining thing
sometimes it is the quiet lift of a heart
that’s been heavy too long,
the steady breaths taken
when the air feels thin.
There is a downside to being strong
the way people forget you ever needed holding,
The way your own softness can go unnoticed
even by your own touch.
Strength can become a mask
you never intended to wear.

 

The reflection of light you glimpse
has been cast by the others
it softens the edges you drew
from your pain, from your fears
hiding under the bed
from the teachings that turned you
against yourself
It lets you into the truth
you could not see alone
Strength is not a performance, but a return
to your own pulse, your own tenderness,
your own becoming.

 

And then, something beautiful happens.
One voice speaks, and another answers,
a third rises like color spreading across a blank canvas.
You feel the weight of this solitude
grow lighter when you join the chorus.

 

This is the wonder of coming together
each voice carrying its own story,
each hand offering a piece of light,
each image is a reminder
that strength is not solitary,
It is shared. It is echoed.
It is made whole in community.

 

In the gathering of our expressions 

we learn that survival does look like 

standing alone, fists clenched, teeth gritted 

It means standing together

letting our art hold what our hands cannot.

Letting our lines blend in ways 

our tongues cannot fathom

in ways our teachers could not dream

as they insisted, we keep our eyes on our own paper.    

Letting us rest, assuredly, in the curiosity 

of each other