“She”

Though she crack, though she splinter under pressure,
She knows how to hone her soul.
And so breaking her bones will just supply her with sharper teeth.

With murder in your mind,
You left her alone with the wolves
But she’s kind to dogs
Knows a lullaby to sooth the hungry Jaguar

By night she knows the stars
And by day,
Her sun waxes and wanes
To a tune made of gentle hymns

She is weak against your criticism,
But she’ll have you know 
That her wounds, they are deep 
and they are old
So to her,
cauterized flesh smells like caramel

She may be dark,
But she likes it . 
Your skin may be radiant, untouched
But you’re cold.

She still knows how to dance,
But you fools have forgotten.
And the secret code to enter heaven?
It’s a waltz you perform all your own.

From the Author

I’ve just purchased a new mic for the blog! The audio is attached at the top of the post if you missed it. I’m also dipping my toes into audio editing software, so feel free to drop tips or suggestions in the comments. With that out of the way…

People think I’m sensitive.

People are… well they’re right.

You cut me- I bleed. There’s not much I’ve been able to do about it. But there are people out there that have “thick skin.” Being allegedly half-duck; water just sliiiiiiiides right off their backs.

I really, truly, honestly envy those kinds of people. I’ve tried to be like that- tried to *make* myself like that for a long time. I’ve learned that at this point, it’s a lost cause. That being said- I’ve also learned that there are at least three kinds of strengths in the world (at least when it comes to being beat-up by the ducks from across the pond):

1. That which is so hard and unmoving that it resists being broken.

2. That which is able to bend to great lengths without breaking.

3. That which can rebuild itself after being broken.

I think that humans are capable of all three of these kinds of strength, but we’re almost always really good at 2 and horribly under-equipped in the other. It’s just… kind of strange to me that the 1st kind of strength is often regarded as “real” strength, and that the others are mistaken for weakness.

This is a poem about the easily broken, the ones who bend, and the single tiny kernel of yourself that cannot be killed- no matter what comes to destroy it.