Don’t Call Me Strong

Don’t crown me brave for wounds I hide,
For nights I trembled, torn inside.
My loyalty bled where knives were kept,
I stood by those who never wept.

Strength, you say, but it feels like pain,
A weary fight that leaves a stain.
Half of me proud, half feels a fool,
Bound by a heart that breaks its rule.

I mend the bridges scorched by fire,
Still stitching scars of lost desire.
If there’s a warrior here in me,
It weeps in silence endlessly.

So spare the praise, I’m still undone,
This isn’t strength—it weighs a ton.
I’m bleeding still, though I endure,
A fragile soul, not iron, not pure.