She told me that being strong meant to suffer.
And I couldn't possibly fathom her words,
What mother, after all, tells her child to suffer?
That to be a strong woman, meant I had to crawl all the way through hell victoriously
Covered in black and blue with too many broken bones and fractures to count,
And then, only then, would I become a strong woman
I thought she was joking.
Until I was forced on the journey to strength,
Not gracefully, of course,
Rather, it was like I was pushed down the side of a cliff with jagged edges and huge boulders
And told that the only way to go was up, up, up
With no climbing gear or any preparations
And if I tried to find a way around, there would be penalties which would lead to various consequences
I became a strong woman eventually
When the thought of hell no longer phased me
And I could stand on my own two feet when the world around me was crumbling
But even as a strong woman,
Even when I could take on anything,
There was one thought that began to haunt me,
"What if I want to be weak again?"
What if I wanted to be vulnerable?
Or have someone help carry my burdens?
Would I just have to suck it up?
And I hated this downfall
Hated this strength
For why did every woman have to gain it through pain?