Don't Call Me A Survivor

I am not the Phoenix,
rising from ashes.
I am the ash that lingers
after the fire,
gray and formless,
blown in all directions
by cold November wind.

Please don’t call me a survivor,
that word weighs too much.
It paints me in cape
of resilience I do not wear.
Survivor sounds like triumph,
a medal I never earned,
a strength I never had,
a cross I never chose to carry.
I am still curled up in the corner,
sobbing, wrapped in what was taken.

Surviving is something I do,
because I have no other choice.
Not something I am.
Just let me be broken,
let me be what I am,
without the weight of wings
I can’t unfold.