They said she was a vessel,
Soft clay shaped by fragile hands,
A whisper in crowded rooms,
A shadow where silence stands.
They called her delicate
As if strength could not wear skin so tender,
As if her voice, when raised,
Would break instead of thunder.
She walked through narrow paths
Carved by rules she did not write,
Told to dim her shining soul
So others could feel bright.
“Be gentle, be quiet, be small,”
They stitched into her name,
Yet fire lived beneath her ribs
No silence could contain.
For she is more than their stories,
More than labels thrown her way,
Not a vessel made for breaking
But a storm that learns to stay.
She carries worlds within her,
Dreams that stretch beyond the sky,
And though they tried to cage her wings,
Still she learned to fly.
Call her strong, call her rising,
Call her everything she’s worth,
For the girl they named “weak vessel”
Is the fiercest force on earth.
