Automatically recognize the weight of your body-crushing me,
Your remarks foul and disgusting.
I know I am tougher than than the perceived twenty something.
Multiple thoughts tell me to cease,
But your communication is static.
Broken into fragments,
Your delivery estimation was delayed.
My sword is violent and in hand.
You looked so pretty in your soft pink bra that I almost felt bad for breaking the straps
You said I don’t care, at home I have a pile of beautiful things that got ruined by some ugly, awkward teenage boy’s hand and they don’t mean anything
You said it didn’t have to mean anything and you said I am tougher than I look
You were. You were so tough and I wasn’t.
I was just an ugly awkward boy who never touched someone so beautiful before so I pretended you were glass (but forgot you could cut me)
(maybe I wanted you to cut me)
You kissed me like I was burning building and like you had a death wish.
It was over so fast when I think about it now I wonder if maybe I just made the whole thing up.
But I still have your soft pink bra.
You left it in my bedroom even though I was a stranger
(I still am a stranger)
(Do you ever think about me?)
but you put back on your ratty jeans and Jimi Hendrix tee shirt and dirty converse with the floppy laces and left through the window just after midnight
Why did you climb through the window?
(The front door wasn’t locked.)
(No one else was home. )
You left me your ruined pink bra
And said see you but the thing is I didn’t see you
I didn’t see you but I know your pile of pretty broken things keeps growing and that I’ll never have the chance to carve my name into your heart again.
You said don’t worry I’m tough,
But you’re too tough.
You’re a typhoon
You’re a disaster and I’m the unfunded relief team
You’re a box of nails and all the cracks in the sidewalk
You’re fine, blowing time and guys and collecting tear stained letters with a smile
You’re fine and I stay wrecked
So I was wearing some purple lipstick, shorts with colored stockings and fishnets, badass combat boots, my hair was short and bright red, cool tanktop. And this really uptight guy from my old school saw me and was like “Eh, woah. You like attention.” I could tell I was not fitting with his standards of what a “nice girl” should look like. First off I’m just “Woah”, second, get your attention out of my face, I look fab.
But one of my personal proudest moments as a KH fan was how we (me and my sisters) were over at a friend’s house and they played it too and were all, “I can’t beat Sephiroth no matter what I do,” and so they let us try starting with me and if one of us died we had to hand it over to the next one in a sort of pain circle. Only one thing. I didn’t die. I beat him first fucking try. It helps that I pretty much had the boss fight with him down to a scientific formula practically from dying so much. I rarely ever die at his hands when I replay the game on PS2 it’s that ingrained in my head how to beat him.
“people talk about the war heroes who come home scared to go to sleep;
and those fighters should be honored.
but what about the girls who are waking up each morning and bravely facing their past?
we seem to forget that the flashbacks come whether or not there were gunshots.
that men, diet coke, bathrooms, and doctor’s offices can be terrifying.
that letting it go does not mean forgetting.
that every day can be a battle between good and evil;
and it’s easy to be on the losing side.”
“I am made of tougher stuff
Than those things traditionally
Presumed to be feminine.
I am not sugar or spice.
I am not ribbons or lace.
I am not porcelain or glass.
I am iron.
I am made of steel.
My bones have withstood
Against the tides of pain
That my body has given itself.
I am made of tougher stuff than that.”
I am stronger than my excuses. I work harder than ever before. I may not always be the best, but I always put in my best effort. I am tougher, stronger and better than I was yesterday and I’ll do it all over again tomorrow. 💪🏼