Zebra Seeking Spoons

They call us zebras

because we are rare.

Because when you hear hoofbeats

it is usually a horse—

but sometimes

it is something striped

and stubborn

and still standing.

Zebra strong

is not loud strength.

It is not the kind

that lifts mountains

or runs marathons.

It is the strength

of calculating spoons

before your feet touch the floor.

The strength of choosing

what matters most

when everything costs.

It is bones that ache

and still rise.

Nerves that spark

and still reach.

A body that storms

and a spirit that says,

We go on.

Zebra strong

is learning your limits

without letting them

name you small.

It is grieving

the life you once mapped—

the blueprint crumpled

in a drawer—

and sketching something new

in careful, shaking lines.

It is asking for help.

It is accepting it.

It is forgiving your body

for surviving

the only way it knows how.

Zebra strong

is quiet defiance.

It is striped resilience—

light and dark

woven together,

not canceling each other out

but proving

both can exist

on the same living skin.

We are not fragile.

We are not failures.

We are not imaginary.

We are rare.

We are real.

We are zebra strong.