An Archer
Why is it that
when on days the bravery flows in my veins
like the furious oceanic waves,
gulping down everything that comes in the way
and I could surpass every fear ingrained,
but often on somedays
I am weak.
Everything
triggers
me.
words spoken to me 5-10 years back,
words I shouldn’t have said,
a random whatsApp message,
a social media troll,
a failed attempt at cooking,
the guilt,
the humiliation,
work as arrows and
pierce my soul,
knocking me down
I feel like
a worthless piece
of scrap
set on a journey to spread a little love
when she couldn’t love herself.
the waves of bravery succumb
to the shower of the shooting arrows.
they are too full, too empty
to fight back.
Why too often these disturbances
build a home in my heart?
I hate to breathe in here.
but I am
I am too tired,
too scared
to escape.
Why on some days,
fear appear bigger than me,
I am unable
to move, speak
do anything
to help myself a little.
How suddenly a
cheerful day
becomes gloomy
as if a moment ago
it was a bright sunny day,
now the sun has just
set.
So I lay here
injured and motionless,
as the arrows
poke me
and remind me of
all the times
I felt the same.
You see, I could give in here, but I just can’t.
I pull each one of the arrows out of me and
shoot them in the air
You see, I am
an archer.
Don’t see those arrows as my weakness,
the tips of the arrow are drenched with my soul,
and as I release them from the bow,
they are my
strength.
