End of a Strength Year

    Do you see how unsaid words

slip off my porpoise skin? All because  

I love it when you call me "Muscles"—  

as in, I am dragging a cardboard box  

ten times bigger than myself, and you  

call out, "Get it, Muscles!"  

    Yet I still follow my mother's advice:  

"You have to rip a band-aid off" 

so I do and reveal the scabless wound  

I've been picking at for weeks—  

Taming wild animals should be left to professionals,  

not silly little girls like me.

    Just as morale is lowest before the battle's end

and, you, my soldier knows this but I do not—

Your soft, grizzled eyes try to remind me  

muscle isn’t just brawn, but hearts pumping,  

lips curling to a smile, and hands drying tears.  

I am strong enough to end this year.