There are words etched into my skin
but they weren't placed there by others.
If I am in control of my thoughts,
then I am in control of my words
and only I can place words upon myself.
So call me names,
I already have my loquacious armor
and I'm not afraid to speak.
Chances are you won't tell me something about myself
that I don't already know.
Only I can truly define myself
and my skin is home to words such as:
honest, liar, loyal, manipulator, friend, and monster.

Try to make me feel bad.
I dare you.

I've grown a new layer of skin
in just less than two months
I now have an exterior shell
protecting me from reminders
of the pain that lies underneath
protecting others from the discomfort
of witnessing a mental breakdown
Now it's harder to feel
and when a crack begins to spread
I'm quick to patch it up
because it's easier to swallow my words
than to speak them through tears.

Why do we fantasize about a man saving us from all our woes. A man on a proud white horse in gleaming armor. Untarnished and unfazed by the world's truest of enemies. Hatred, anger, abuse and lies. We all want someone to save us. How about our own battle worn, beaten up and weathered armor? She said. She looked down with tears running down her cheeks as she spoke so softly: Because I'm the only one who can save myself. I don't need someone who can't go to war with me. Not want to scratch his shining armor but only wants to reap the rewards. My knight in worn out armor is me.

I barely survived the Devils hour last night

There was music playing in my ears for awhile, a strange combination of tunes I became enveloped in

They cushioned my thoughts as I read, blocking out the birds that started chirping out of turn, and the crosswalk beeping every three minutes on the dot

The reason I almost didn't survive, however, had nothing to do with the music or the story or the crosswalk

I heard something coming for me

A shadow, but I heard it
It comes for me some nights
There's no pattern like the crosswalk signal
I've fought it before, so I am usually ready for it
But this time I forgot to bring my armor to the orchestra

I came exposed, in an oversized Sherpa coat
You see, I was cold
The armor would have chilled my skin
I'm so sorry I forgot it, my shield too
I was unprepared

The synesthetic darkness crept over me, like an invisible thunderstorm, or the lowest note on a bass guitar, or the smell of burnt toast

I could not fight it
I am sorry
I will try harder

Do not forget your armor, they said
We know certain things will always happen, they said  
One, is that the crosswalk signal will always beep every three minutes
The other, is that the darkness will come, and it will prey on those who are not prepared.