#reclaiming
They say it like a warning.
Like a flaw.
Like something soft
and breakable
and less.
You throw like a girl.
You run like a girl.
You fight like a girl.
As if girl means
crooked.
Weak.
Almost.
As if girl means
not enough.
But tell me —
What does “like a girl”
even look like?
Like scraped knees
from learning anyway?
Like voices hoarse
from shouting over laughter?
Like teeth clenched
from being underestimated
again
and again
and again?
Because I have seen girls
run until their lungs burned,
throw until their arms shook,
fight battles no one clapped for.
I have seen girls
carry worlds quietly
on narrow shoulders.
Yet somehow
girl became shorthand
for failure.
An insult
disguised as grammar.
You cry like a girl.
You quit like a girl.
You’re just a girl.
Just?
Just the ones who survive
a thousand tiny dismissals.
Just the ones who grow armor
where confidence should have been handed freely.
Just the ones who learn strength
without ever being allowed
to look strong.
So say it again.
Say “like a girl”
like it’s something small.
And I’ll hear —
Like relentless.
Like fierce.
Like the mistake
you made
underestimating her.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 8:19 PM UTC
The bus was a blessing, six hours of snacks and pride,
Four to a room in Des Moines, tucked in side-by-side.
We watched DI, and POI, the clever and the loud,
Small-town debaters lost within a twenty-thousand crowd.
Then came the dark room—one hundred fifty thousand feet,
Where the top ten stood on stage for the whole world to meet.
I was tired of the Interp, the Addams Family, the hum,
So I put my headphones on, waiting for the end to come.
But the worst happened.
Allie stood in red, her microphone clipped tight,
When a man’s voice cut the air and killed the light.
"Knock, knock," he yelled—a joke that turned to lead,
As the camera panned to a bag, all the humor fled.
"Run away!?" she asked in panic, and the stage became a ghost,
As a sea of bodies surged against the exit post.
Chairs shrieked like victims, shoes left on the floor,
A frantic, crushing gravity pulling for the door.
Pushed forward, shoved back, the bangs began to roll,
Reverberating off the walls, vibrating in my soul.
I felt the weight of hundreds, the trample and the fear,
My coach’s hand beneath my arm, keeping me here.
I waited by the exit, white-knuckled, frozen still,
I couldn’t leave my team behind against my frantic will.
But a girl I barely knew took my hand and led the way,
Through the barricades and bathrooms where the hiding students lay.
Outside, the air was light, but the world was heavy-gray,
Watching flashing sirens wash the "blessing" all away.
Later, the news called it a "scare," but the body doesn't lie.
Now, when I sit in rounds, I watch the hallway with my eye.
My coach puts us by the door, a tactical retreat,
In case the silence breaks again and we have to find the street.
And yet—
I stood in my suit, I spoke the words, I played the part.
I qualified. I made the cut. I finished what I’d start.
But when they called my name, the "magic" felt like stone;
I felt absolutely nothing standing there alone.
No spark of joy, no rush of pride, just the ringing in my ears,
The hollow, cold vibration of the previous year's fears.
But I am going back.
I’ll board that bus, I’ll face the room, I’ll stand upon the floor,
Even if I have to do it right beside the exit door.
The memory is tainted, and the shaking hasn't ceased,
But I’m reclaiming territory from the center of the beast.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 6:39 AM UTC
My eyes are fixed and cold
My heart, an I told you so
I left the sickness in its bed
Cleared space inside my head
Finally
Gave the suffering an end
Just to begin again
I live in a house of truth
Empty except for the belief
Of what it can
and cannot do
The biggest mistake I've made
Thinking that I've known the truth
Now,
I will choose differently
Let you know
I know nothing
So we can believe in something
When we think we know
How could we grow but
Being able to believe
Is to be awake
inside a dream
And waking up and
Remembering its meaning
And being changed by the feeling
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 11:44 PM UTC
They cannot stop you
Or they would have already
Still, they will try.
Will you?
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
Eternal peace,
The big bang happened.
Somthing new,
To reclaim what was missing, the goal.
First glimpses,
Then stories,
Then I.
Jul 18, 2024
Jul 18, 2024 at 6:17 AM UTC
i get tattoos
to love my skin
instead of scar it
i get tattoos
to love the art
that goes into it
i get tattoos
to love myself
i get tattoos
to reclaim
what you stole
this is my body
this is my art
this is not yours
this is me
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
Help me.
Her cry could be
Heard over
Hills and
Hells, and the cries of
Heathens and
Harlots and ******
His lips smacked
Hard against each other, already tasting
Her.
His tongue
Had already anticipated
Her neck, the neck that protects
Her voice, the voice that was stolen by cries for
Help, over and over and over again
He invaded
Her body, but crushed
Her spirit, and speared
Her soul.
He didn’t steal
Her virtue.
He stole
Her light.
He smothered it with
His body, covering every inch.
Here is the story of
Her and
Her daughter and
Her daughter’s daughter, and every woman that ever lived.
Here is
Her story.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC