I cannot be your walking stick
there to prop you up
from your self inflicted limp.
I cannot be your crucifix
take the sins you refuse to carry
cast by your neglected shadows of self.
I cannot shrink myself, reduce myself
empty my breath into the lungs of you
so they expand and strengthen.
I cannot be your prize
mine my brightest heart formed gems
to adorn and shine your self imposed armor.
I cannot be less than whole
tear myself into tiny ragged pieces
to be the tail that flies your kite so high.
Don’t put me on a pedestal,
or try and reform me into your image,
or make of me a container to hold
that which you refuse to carry.
I cannot be what you think I should
or wash myself of the parts you fear to see.
I can only be
will only be
must only be,