I was never fragile.
It took me ages to realize that truth.
You may have mistaken my kindness and compassion for my weakness.
But they were my strength. My armor. My shield.
Look at me—your poison failed to corrupt me.
For a moment, of course, I was filled with doubt.
Everything seemed foggy.
And you seemed right.
Yes, for a moment, I was tempted to believe
that only the likes of you had a future—
that I would wilt and wither
just like that,
simply because I am not you.
But then compassion taught me otherwise.
You were the weak one, destined to be forgotten.
Always trying to sound like you were better than everyone.
Always trying to put others down,
so you could appear brighter, stronger.
Too bad you were proven wrong.
I’m still here.
Not wilting.
Not withering.
Not scared.
Not timid.
And you…
I stopped carrying you
a long time ago.
This piece is written in response to the two hundredth and ninetieth edition of Fiction Monday inspired by the word prompt – FRAGILE hosted by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
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Beyond Scribbles 
Two lines”…mistaken my kindness and compassion for weakness” and “…poison failed to corrupt me” give a clear picture of who you are. Your poem reminds me of similar poem of Bhartruhari – it says “To have a heart (*compassionate) as tender as a flower and resolve (to be uncorrupted) as firm as a rock is the identity of a noble person.” Very beautifully written, Vinitha.
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