"Looking at the softness of a rose, some devils tried to pluck it off. They tried to twitch and slew, but forgot, that the delicate rose has thorns too."
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"Delicate."
A most hated word that seems to seek me out wherever I may go.
"Frail" or "weak.' Things I have placed in comparison with "delicate." Three words that I have never wished to become.
To be called 'delicate' was a blow to my strength and resolve.
I must not cry. I must not show my happiness. I must not show love. Instead, I have to be strong and cold. If I was not, one could find a weak point in my heart and ruin me.
Though I worked hard to be strong and distant, I could never keep my emotions in check. Thus I placed an impermeable mask upon my heart. For too long I have worn this mask, guarding my heart and my mind. What good am I, if I can not show a visage of strength and courage.
I am NOT delicate.
I am not delicate when the string of my bow pulls back with unmeasured strength.
I am not delicate when my arrow pierces the heart of even the fiercest of enemies.
I am not delicate when I speak my mind.
I am not delicate when my lips clash with His in moments of passion.
I am not delicate when my fingers grip tightly in long strands of fire.
Yet all of these things show another side. I am strong and powerful. But at the same time, gentle and kind. Where once I thought only one version of me could survive in this world, He has shown me that to be 'delicate' is just as necessary.
I AM delicate.
I am delicate when my heart whispers prayers for those who have fallen under my swift arrow.
I am delicate when I speak words of comfort or kindness to my friends.
I am delicate when He embraces me in his protective hold and not even the Valar could come between us..
I am delicate when he gently caresses my skin with his lips and draws dreamy sighs from my own.
I am delicate when we exchange words of love and veneration.
Why can I not be both? Is it really so terrible to be kind, delicate, or sweet as my friends say?
I am allowed to be soft and strong and fierce yet fragile. There is magic in my ability to bend without breaking and to rise above without falling. I have always been more than enough. Not too much, or too little, but enough. I can be delicate and powerful at the same time.
I am twice as delicate as I once was, but my strength has doubled in amount just the same.
I can be a soft flower, but one with thorns sharper than a knife.
I can be the sun, warm and kind, but also cold and dark as the moon.
I can be a butterfly, settling upon your hand like a gentle kiss, but also a lion with a roar mightier than any battle cry.
I am delicate, but I am strong.
