"They call us weak,"* I said through tears
And she was on the floor, staring into space, wrapped in a blanket and her own arms, as if she could squeeze the grief out of her.
"But we are not weak.
People who run are weak
People who hide are weak
People who quit
Are weak
But we aren't weak.
We're just raw."
My voice shook and broke
And she looked up at me and we shared a moment
Of suffering strength.
And for better or worse
In horrible, shocking, painful ways
We are both learning that no one has the right
To ever call us cowards again.

And I walked home,
Moonlight pale and sharp at my back,
In the very center of the street.
And this morning I woke up just at dawn
With the soft grey light seeping through my window
And into my white skin
A cloud come to shadow the moon
And I was sad
And I was lonesome
And I was betrayed
But
For the first time in many years
I was not
Afraid.