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,