I am convinced
That if all mankind
Could only gather together
In one circle
Arms on each other's shoulders
And dance, laugh and cry
     together
   Then much
     of the tension and burden
       of life
     Would fall away
In the knowledge that
We are all children
Needing and wanting
Each other's
Comfort and
Understanding
We are all children
Searching for love

Erase it.
If anybody can, you can.
I have no right to wish you would. But I think you could.
I think if I were to lay in your arms, I would forget everyone who tore me up after you.
I think if I let myself see your face the way I used to, if I memorized your eyes again,
I think maybe I could lose all this.
What I felt when I knew you was pure.
And now
Now I feel like a river or a sea that's been churned black with oil,
Polluted,
Tainted.
I loved how complete my love was then, how clear.
Whether I was in pain or in joy, it had this... sacredness to it.
A clarity. A divinity.
Since then it feels like all anyone's done is graffiti the walls of the church of my soul,
Carve names and cross them out, tip over the pews and shatter the stained glass windows into little harsh rainbow shards on the ground.
There are scorch marks on the doors.
There are vines growing through the floorboards.
Erase it. Erase it all.
Make me new.
You are no angel, and I am no ******, but I don't want to be
Saved.
I want to be new.
I want you to make me remember how to believe.
I want to have faith in someone who actually deserves it.
The girl who knelt at your feet was so innocent, so awed.
She is dead, angel.
She died pure. But I remember her.
I remember her enough to wonder if she could haunt me a little, maybe touch my soul and wash it clean.
I want to be a blank slate, a clean page.
I want to be what I was when you were the first person I ever wanted to be close to.
And I am not naive-
I know that you are no angel, angel.
I know that I am no awestruck little girl.
But I think that if anyone could bring out the purity in me, it'd be you,
And if anyone could bring out the light in you, it'd be me.
I have no right to be wishing you'd erase these years,
All this dust that's gotten caked upon my heart.
But..
I've got to hope for something, don't you see?
I just want to forget.
I just want to be free.
I just want to be
New.

My special talent is being tough.
Not being unreachable,
Not being invincible,
Not being unaffected, but taking blows.
It's a dubious gift, to be sure.
But I think I can no longer deny the fact that my biggest strength in this life is my ability to take a hit and come back.
Yes, there are people who don't even feel the blows that life deals out.
And on the other hand, there are those people who fall to their knees and collapse whenever something hurts.
But right in the middle,
Between apathy and fragility,
That is where I live,
And I think it's the hardest place to be.
To brush off attacks is one thing.
To let them reach you and go on through the pain is quite another.
My special talent is SURVIVING.
My therapist says I need to learn how to thrive.
Maybe she's right. But with my life, I've not been allowed the chance.
What I have had some kickass experience with is enduring.
Surviving.
Going on.
Finding something to live for when everything I've lived for in the past has been knocked down like a line of dominoes.
And yeah, my acceptance of pain makes me vulnerable, but I spring back.
I absorb the force of what life throws at me and throw it right back.
I spend the time I need to crying, hurting, fearing.
But I always rise.
Always.
If you decide to edit the cast of my life, I learn to love new people.
If you take my chances from me, I make new ones.
If my dreams are shattered, I create new dreams.
I am not impenetrable.
I am not an island.
People touch my heart,
Leave handprints in wet paint, leave scars, cigarette burns, leave graffiti, but I
Go on.
They do not destroy me.
They can take, but they can never demolish.
My backbone bends in the wind, but it's made of steel, and you'll never break it.
I am tough, it is my special talent.
I fight wars every day that you will never know about.
I rise ****** each morning from battles against dreams of your arms.
And I will tell you this, my darling, my tyrant:
You can conquer, but you'll never win.