The first time somebody called me strong,
I was sitting on that psychiatrist’s couch,
And I couldn’t contain the earthquakes in my body.
With a trembling voice I told her,
You’ve got it all wrong.
It’s not enough for the tree to stand,
after the lightning has desecrated it’s holy vessel;
It knows that mother nature has broken faith,
and it can never go on as before
when its maker has forsaken it.
I am a box full of every final puzzle piece
that is nowhere to be found.
You can’t complete me.
And if you took a walk in my head,
You wouldn’t find any benches.
There’s no place to rest.
I guess what I’m trying to say is;
I don’t know what I am,
But I know what I’m not.
I’m not strong,
But I’m here.
And do you know what she told me?