She Is The Oak

It—

did begin with star-bright eyes,

born in this world so fair,

with faith as pure as dawn’s first light,

no dread might linger there.

“Sweet mother,” cried its gentle voice,

"Dear father,” came its plea,

it dreamt of arms that held it close,

and hearts beat ever free.

But hands that should have gently held,

did strike with cold disdain,

and lips that ought to bless its brow,

did bring instead, but pain.

Where children’s dreams should sprout and bloom,

dark shadows crept unseen,

and vows once sworn 'fore legal's sight,

were broken without spleen.

It learnt to still its cries at night,

to dim its merry flame,

to read the skies of tempers foul,

and bear them, void of name.

It bore its past like jagged glass,

a wound it could not bind,

each year did lay oneself to rest,

'neath whispers: “I am fine.”

Yet from the loam of sorrow deep,

a stem began to rise,

though bent by wind and tempest’s howl,

it braved the storm-swept skies.

She—

now protects her own with care,

with hands that heal and tend,

a mother giveth what she sought—

a love that shall not end.

At night, she sings her own to sleep,

and hugs with soft embrace,

within her arms no fear abides,

nor wrath’s unkindly face.

She is the oak, once was the reed,

a guide she longed to be,

with quiet strength, the chain she broke,

and forged her legacy.

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“She Is the Oak” is about the transformation from reed to oak — from bending under the weight of others’ cruelty to standing firm and offering shade to those we love. This piece is a tribute to resilience, womanhood, and the cycle-breaking strength of those who choose love where they once received harm. It’s about reclaiming the right to be both soft and strong — to be the mother, sister, or friend we once needed.

We are not what broke us.

We are what grew from the breaking.