The girl is still a ghost in me, The scraped-up knee, the wild-wept sea. But I am made of sterner thread, The words I meant, the tears I shed. My bones are not of reed, but oak, The day the silent woman spoke.
My kingdom is the life I’ve built, Of joy and sorrow, grace and guilt. My wealth is not in glass, but scars, Each one a map of fallen stars. I know my hands and what they do, They hold the old, they shape the new.
The throne I built is now my mind, Where memories and truths unwind. I rule no forest, but I own The seeds of every choice I’ve sown. My truest friend is my own soul, The thing that finally made me whole.
I do not watch from behind chairs, I pull one up and state my shares. I know the cadence of the lie, And I’m the reason it must die. I’ve walked the road and learned its cost, And found the things I thought I’d lost.
They dress me in what I have earned, The lessons that my body learned. My hair is wild or bound or grey, I choose the battles for the day. I write the lines, I speak the part, I am a living work of art.
So I am not of sand, but stone, A landscape that is all my own. The book is open, read me now, The story’s written on my brow. I am the harvest and the ground, The silence, and the piercing sound.
Pam Beach ‘Beyond the Blog’
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