They ask me how I can be this strong

And where I learned all this bravery.

They comment how heavy the things are

I carry without them weighing me down.

They see how I strain and they wonder

What kind of power I hold within.

We often joke that if lived centuries ago

They would have burned me already

Because no one likes a prophet or a wise woman

If she’s terrifying, she must be a witch.

And so I wear this crown of bones I’ve collected

From the remains of all the pains I have endured

And I carry the heaviness of it not because I am strong

But because I am full of spite

For the circumstances which continually conspire

To bring me down.