Zebra Seeking Spoons

Your body is not the enemy,

though it speaks in storms

you never asked to weather.

It is a house with flickering lights,

a map with missing roads,

a rhythm that forgets its own song—

and still, it tries.

Still, it wakes with you.

Still, it breathes you forward.

Still, it holds your fragile, stubborn hope

in trembling hands.

Be gentle with the vessel

that carries both your pain

and your persistence.

It is easy to resent the breaking,

the limits,

the way the world keeps moving

when you cannot.

But your body is not failing you—

it is fighting

in ways no one else can see.

Every ache is a message, not a betrayal.

Every pause, a kind of protection.

Every “no” it whispers

is an attempt to keep you here.

So speak to it softly.

Thank your legs

for the days they hold you.

Thank your lungs

for each quiet inhale.

Thank your heart

for refusing to give up

even when you want to.

Let compassion be the language

you wrap around yourself

when frustration rises like a tide.

You are not broken—

you are adapting,

surviving,

learning the sacred art

of listening inward.

And that, too, is strength.