My Hero

My walls became impenetrable long ago because when surrounded by stone, my soul can thrive.

These are truths I’ve always known 

A story

One day there was a little girl

She could pass as nondescript.

Her eyes were brown

Her hair was brown

Even her skin was a lighter shade, but still brown

But

Upon a second glance

Her smile was large and quick 

Her eyes sparkled when anyone spoke to her

Her cheeks were sun-kisssed

And, if you pulled a strand of her hair taut and then let it go, the coil would spring back 

toward her face in a jumble of soft curls that tossed about with the breeze, never staying any certain way for very long.

She was young, yet not.

She promptly learned about herself and about her world

Seeing others smile brought her warmth and made it easy to laugh

Falling down and getting hurt never slowed her, physical pain was worth achieving her goals

Stubbornness could become a focused skill, instead of a burden unto others

Some of life’s lessons were more difficult

Traumatic, leaving more than wisdom in their path of destruction.

Marks lingered, deepening into scars

Sometimes grief was too heavy, making it hard to take in air.

Sometimes confusion and betrayal took her breath. She choked in place, drowning without water.

She was scared.

But, remember, she was stubborn and she cherished joy.

So, she refused to crumble

She refused to collapse

She refused to surrender her smile, her laugh, her generosity

And, so it was, that she found herself at a precipice.

So innocent, yet so bold

So vibrant, yet so somber

So hungry, yet so lonely

So giving, yet so broken

Squinting through swirling visions of frustration and fear, she slipped off the precipice.

With bleeding fingertips, she desperately clung to the sharp ledge.

An angry, churning river anxiously roared below her.

Her insecurities circled above her– hungry and impatient to pick her bones clean when 

she inevitably fell.

She kicked at the face of the mountain

Slipping

Screaming

Bleeding

Praying

Then,

Unexpectedly, finding purchase.

Pulling

Heaving

Climbing

Rolling over the ledge onto rough, unforgiving ground.

When she peered over, stones tumbled down the cliff’s face into the angry waters.  

Relief, mingled with thin air, rushed back into her lungs.

She coughed, stumbling on her hands and knees.

Facing down what nearly took her, she straightened.

The cough bubbled into a sob.

The sob cut sharply into a laugh.

She laughed and laughed and laughed

No one had helped her.

No one came

No one saved her

Prayer boosted her

And she survived

That was when she knew.

She knew that she was special.

That no one would ever break her.

No one would control her.

Her happiness could not be taken.

Her sadness could not be given.

Her peace, her love, her self-worth were hers alone.

That is the inspiring story of a hero.

No harsh words or weaponized silence will waver my strength or cut me too deeply

Because I know the story of the little girl. 

The world tried to take her truth

But, she survived

Alone, but never lonely

Lonely, but never alone

She saved her own soul

And she was her own hero.