“I Can’t Let You Do That” You can’t, but I will. I see you tiptoeing on shells—deflating upon arrival. Standing before me, hungry, yet pleading not to be fed. And all at once, I’m seeing survival. You breaking yourself down in hopes of being digested. I know you can’t, but I will. And I can’t stand that person; the one who poached your confidence. Cracked you into two and watched you drain with laughter Made you feel that you’re too much. Denied you of your opulence. Said “get in the back seat, you’re nothing more than a passenger” I know you can’t, but I will. Because in my world, you’re the driver. Navigating us to freedom—full steam ahead. You’re more than just a survivor. You are vibrant and tenacious and deserving of more than just bread. I know you can’t, but I will. Crumbs are what you’ve been given, but you’re deserving of a feast; don’t you ever forget. I know you can. I will it. Ask me boldly and loudly. Of COURSE I can make you an omelet.