There is a strength not born from adversity,
or by gender,
or by any other means,
It stands and keeps standing,
Without a second thought,
Of how near others are.
The strength is housed,
In many forms,
Not always the book smart,
the fine featured, or
But comes in a frail, spindly package,
as often as a burly, stout one.
This strength is the wind in the sails of others,
And if the hand on the helm is true,
The rudder is sure to chart a course,
For the weaker to head in the right direction.
There is a weakness, not born from coddling,
Or by gender,
Or by any other means,
It trails and keeps trailing,
with no other thought,
then to stay near the strength.
The weakness is housed,
in many forms.
Not always the feeble-minded,
the soft spoken,
but comes in a muscle-bound confident package,
as often as a shaking, unsteady one.
This weakness is a blanket on the shoulders of the strong,
covering and weighing them down, so that they don’t
rise above their humanity and are lost.
The strong and the weak.
to each their own place.
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