When all tears are dry, I might grow stronger, maybe,

When all tears are dry, I might grow stronger, maybe,
And learn to reply to the ones who once hurt me, baby.
Not with revenge, not with a cruel, bitter sound,
But with a calm silence that spins the world round.

I won't flinch at a name that once cut like a knife,
I won't beg for a warmth that was never in life.
I'll walk from that war with no sword, but a crown —
Not yours, but my own, as I burn the past down.

And if you should see me, you won't know my face:
My palms hold no ashes — they hold worlds and grace.
Forgive? I don't think so. Forget? Hardly, dear.
But I am a woman — and I've conquered my fear.