Don’t tell me I can fly.
Don’t tell me I can carry the sky on my small and trembling shoulders
because if it falls
it will only make that fallen weight more breaking.
Don’t tell me I can hold my head above the current and walk through the flames
when I know the current is stronger than my feet in the sand
and I don’t want to hide the burns on my palms.
Maybe I will be brave;
don’t expect it.
Maybe I will reach the stars and scatter them across my skin;
don’t count them before I’ve touched them.
Maybe you will be right, and I will
hold the sky
hold my head above the current
hold fire in my palms,
maybe you will be right.
But maybe you won’t and
I don’t want to see the way your gaze shifts
if I have to tell you
you were wrong.
Don’t tell me I can carry the sky on my small and trembling shoulders
because if it falls
it will only make that fallen weight more breaking.
Don’t tell me I can hold my head above the current and walk through the flames
when I know the current is stronger than my feet in the sand
and I don’t want to hide the burns on my palms.
Maybe I will be brave;
don’t expect it.
Maybe I will reach the stars and scatter them across my skin;
don’t count them before I’ve touched them.
Maybe you will be right, and I will
hold the sky
hold my head above the current
hold fire in my palms,
maybe you will be right.
But maybe you won’t and
I don’t want to see the way your gaze shifts
if I have to tell you
you were wrong.
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