The stones believed me when I told them
how I felt about you.
They will expect me to keep my promises,
but I know they will keep my secret.
Don't expect me
to drip sugar from my mouth,
begging you to change who you are.
You would not be you
without your frustrating idealism,
rushing off to do battle
while forgetting there are holes in your armor.
I don't want you not to be you.
But I will never be anything but myself.
I am not demure.
I do nothing half-way.
That includes standing by you,
using all my power to shield
the vulnerable parts you overlooked
and keep safe all the things you love,
while I keep true to the words
that, for now, I will only speak to the stones.
Song Choice: America's Sweetheart by Elle King
This poem is linked to the Tuesday Platform over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads and Poets United, Poetry Pantry 420. If you are a longtime reader of the blog you may have had a flash of recognition at some of the tags. This is a poem from the point of view of Cordelia, a character I have written about on this blog before.