Strong: That Is Not Me

 

They say I’m strong the way I live,

Routine and rigor I do give.

Yet my strength lies in how I do

Allows my weakness, and theirs too.

 

I never chase a hardened role,
Or try to forge a tougher soul.
I see that weakness lives in all,
Yet most pretend they should not fall.

 

They strive to prove their worth through strain,
Through grit, endurance, noble pain.
I never play that weary game—
So hardness never calls my name.

 

I shape my days for ease and play,
And quit when joy has slipped away.
I never try “to do my best,”
There is no way for that to test.

 

I follow sparks that light my mind,
And leave the grueling grind behind.
If growth appears along my way,
It’s just one perk that comes from play.

 

They see me mix a daily drink,
A bitter green in one swift blink.
They think it must be iron will strong—
For me it’s play, they are so wrong.

 

Good design will smooth the road,
Remove the weight of needless load.
What looks like strength beneath the sun
Is just a game that’s been well run.

 

I give to others, glad and free,
And take the joy that gives to me.
Yet some refuse my gifts outright—
They think that I would sacrifice.

 

If kindness costs them pain or loss,
They trust it like a sacred cross.
But joy that serves both you and me
Seems false inside that map they see.

 

They say I’m strong in what I do,
But strength is falsely in their view.
It’s simply this, both clear and plain:
The games I play bring only gain.