You once called me delicate
as if I were but the eggshells you walk on
You said you were afraid to touch me
That you could crush my frosted flower petals
with your clumsy hands
Butterfly wings between your fingers
But you overlook my strength
The way eggshells contain a pulsing soul
The way an insect can carry ten times its weight on its back
The fact that glass is made of lightning
You overlook your own gentleness
The soft words you sigh from softer lips
The way that fire keeps me warm
How many teardrops make up a storm?
Please believe me when I say
we are not made of sticks and stones
Please believe me when I say
I am something you can hold