If only I had taken
those last few steps
towards you,
I probably would have
had the courage to say
a simple 'hello'.
But instead,
I'd chicken'ed out
and let her get the chance
to say them instead.
And now;
I've lost my only chance
to ever be with you.

{ E.I }

Bravery runs in my family.

He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to **** and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear

We are cowards.
I am a coward for not saying this to your face,
and you are a coward for trying to drown your problems.
But the problem with your problems,
like most people's problems,
is that your problems are sponges.
They expand and grow
as you pour more on them,
until they adapt and learn to breathe underwater—
growing more and more saturated
until they begin to drip,
leaving a stinking, sticky, ***** mess behind you.
Your problems have left a smudge across our floor,
smeared from where I slipped on them,
from where she walked into them,
from where we tried to step over them,
but missed.
The problem with your problems
is that they are not yours anymore.
Now they are mine.
They are hers.
They are ours.
But only you can clean up
the mess on our kitchen floor.