You see, my daddy raised me to be a fighter. He taught me that sometimes to get through this world you have to raise your fists to get what you want. He told me it was a man’s world, and he didn’t want his little girl to get pushed down, and kicked on. He told me to always fight for what I thought was right.
I never thought much of it until I was older, until I opened my eyes. It wasn’t until I realized we were in a man’s world, a world where men had the upper hand.
A world where I couldn’t wear tank tops on a hot day to school, because it was deemed “too inappropriate for male students and teachers.” Instead of teaching men to not see sexualized images in young girls, we had to suffice.
A world where when I took cooking class, all the girls were expected to be better than the boys. Because it was where we belonged, where we would spend most our time, in the kitchen. When I burned the cake I was looked down upon, but when he did it, it was a joke, a funny accident.
A world where if you say no to the wrong boy, the next day the whole school will either look at you as a ****, when you haven’t even been touched before. Or they will look at you as a ****, a coldhearted one, just because you weren’t interested in him. Yet it’s totally okay when he says no to you, only then “no means no.”
A world where when a women takes charge in an office, company, she is now considered “head *****.” Yet when a man takes charge, he is a boss, someone to respect.
A world where little girls are taught at an early age to never walk alone on the streets, always have someone with you. Instead of teaching little boys to never harm a soul. That when a girl is walking alone it doesn’t mean she’s vulnerable, or is asking for it, she is just going home.
We live in a world where women are expected to be submissive to men, because if we aren’t we are taking away “a part of their manhood.” The only time you’ll find me submissive is in the bedroom, and that will be fifty percent of the time. I will be no one’s notch lower, a shelf down, a step behind, I will be there right with them, side by side. No women should feel less than to a man.

We all get to that point in our lives. Our darkest hour. Wether it's crying on the floor, broken, deserted, or wether we feel like a pointless spec, bouncing through an empty universe, we've all been there. There's a difference between being a good person, and having people think you're a good person. Being a good person doesn't mean being thanked by other people for an act of kindness. Being a good person can be helping someone and not taking a reward. It can be a random act of kindness without a prize. But being a good person is always about being happy with what you did for someone regardless of how they take it. And it's ok to be looking to for thanks because sometimes we just need to be noticed. Some times we just want some one to say "hey i see what you do for people." We want to be cared for. We want to be loved. We all just need someone. Someone for the nights when every chug is for someone we weren't good enough to keep. For the days we wander aimlessly hoping they this think about us. For the nights when each cut is deeper than the last one, and every breath slips from our lungs. For the nights we can't sleep and stay up writing the same words "I'm sorry." We want someone there for us on those nights when nobody else was. We want someone to care for us even when no one else would. We want someone to loves us even though we can't love ourselves. And before they know it were gone. The boy who never spoke. The girl who always wore a jacket, even when it was 100 degrees out. All gone. And then people decide to care. We all need someone to care for us,** so why don't we care for those who are in need?

We fell for each other in the spur of the moment, completely out of control and all at once.
Within the space of a week we became almost emotionally inseparable and craved each others touch, as if I were the food and you were a starving being.
You made me feel more alive than ever when I wanted to die, and that’s when I knew you were dangerous.
You are a poison to me,
with each word you speak you enlighten me in ways I never knew possible, in such little time.
You spoke to me as if I was the center of all of your world.
This of course being most certainly untrue, it never hurt to feel that way.
You’re the poem I’ve always wanted to write
Your person being the vocabulary I always struggled to string together
Your mind, so straight forward to me, still stands as an enigma
For the little time we discovered each other in, I’m entirely grateful to have met a presence like yours
And even if you are the death of me, and I get brutally murdered in this love affair
It is definitely going to be a passionate ending, to the passionate life I have always dreamt of
I love you.