I am a fortress.
I have withstood wars that should have broken me.

Burned down and decimated by the mindless,
I rise up from the ashes.
I stand with my body, eternally.

I am strong.
My thighs are battle grounds trodden down three times round
and they're blooming new flowers,
mending from those who fought over them far too long,
my thighs have super powers.

I am soft and sultry sweet,
full of vulnerabilities.
Nature proves if anything that this will never make me weak.
My eyes once snuffed out are blazing brilliant brightly now,
rivers of tears have been filled in,
replaced by peaches and cream and skin.

My arms are solid protective forces,
my hands, tangible whispering caresses.
I wear my broken bits on my *******,
puffed out chest with pride,
for I have nothing to hide.

My feet take me to and from all the places I've ever gone,
and my mind,
my mind, it tries. It tries so ******* hard,
and my heart cares so much that it shows
in every scar and battle wound,
in every mark that was ever taken as a flaw by boys who never saw
that without the storms I wouldn't glow the way that I glow,
every boy who told me to 'go with the flow'
like I couldn't learn a **** thing for myself.

Still, the lessons people preached did teach me a thing or two,
just not what they usually intended,
my face doesn't face up to face value,
belief is most beautiful when suspended.
My eyes see lies better than my thighs do,
yet resilience sees to it that both are mended,
but if there's anything I've ever learned that's true,
you should never leave anything open-ended

I feel ironic
I want to be a free thinker
But I believe in order
Anarchy is the same as fascism
I feel fear
I want to be an activist
But I don't want to lose my job
Protest doesn't pay the bills
I feel agnostic
I don't know how to believe
But I pray everyday
God is something I can't question
I feel love
I want it so badly
But though I know how to be alone
I hope it forces itself on me

I curse myself my misfortune,
Yet when it turns I bless it

I say goodbye sometimes,
Yet immediately want to turn around and talk some more

I always worry when I'm not around you,
Yet when ill befalls me and you're not there I tell you not to

Sometimes I feel like I am the worst,
Yet still manage to see the best in others

I am instinctively protective of you and my friends,
Yet all I want to do is rest my head on your shoulder and give up

I rant and rage about some people, all fire,
Yet when I actually speak to them I become ice

I always want to talk to you,
Yet unless in a babbling mood I find it hard to do so

In my mind, I picture myself as a smooth talker,
But honestly? The moment I see you I am tongue-tied

If only you knew my ironically comical habits,
That befall me when I fall for you

I stand here on river's edge trembling with excitement
Gazing through the morning mist to distant shore I seek
A vision, once only dream, now slowly reveals

A silhouette of form so wondrous appears
The answer to the only prayer I've ever prayed
The destination of the only path, I've ever traveled

Only raging water of pounding force separates me from journeys end
Will it be the end of me, or will it be my destiny?

has anyone else found it ironic that
we cross our fingers for good luck but also to break promises?

Let us commerate this tragedy.
Soil our hearts with fascist taunts and pointed fingers.
Let us put our hands together and bow.
Good, everyone is still standing.
Praise be to nothing.
There can only be one.
And none of these heathens shall strip me of what's due.
For having lived a tough life.
Or fallen from loves favor.
Search yourself for justification.
Another excuse.
To make the day go by a little faster.
With a world filled with sinners.

What.
Can one person really do.
Change.
Anything at all?

For even the previous days.
Turned a blind eye.
Consuming.
Alluding..
Resuming
Right when the ground became solid again.
Regret just bellow the aching mealstrom.
Even as we embark on that familiar road.
And then all that's left to do.
Is to look towards the furture.
As we blink for the past.