"tendon" poems
For a creation was devised of the purest and simplest elements in life
When the calming and smooth sensation of water caressed your bones, it carved canals of strength along the way
Your skin crawled and crept past your defined chin to bind with its lover
and when the tendon reached the muscle, it fused in an unbreakable relationship
Baby, the sight of your eyes shatters the crystallization of the finest glass
And your voice pierces the night fog leaving a path for only you
The kindness of your heart poured into the rivers to feed oxygen to all of those who depended on it
Your body contains the same carbon that creates sparkling diamonds
The majority of the oxygen is the same element creating tornadoes, or when fused to hydrogen to make a hurricane
Do you see how powerful you are made?
Your soft lips are the same lips that can produce sound in an empty canyon
Your bones are the base of your embrace when you sweep me off my feet
That mind is the exact replica that discovered how to survive the times that were a bigger struggle than planned
Despite all of these acts, how simple or extravagant
You are the perfect arrangement of atoms that hold my hand when I am scared to carry on alone
And the same arrangement of atoms that pull me close and kiss my lips
One might say these actions, however small, have a stronger effect than any hurricane, or tornado, or diamond
For you are a creation devised of the purest and simplest elements in life
And you are completely mine
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.
To the lovers of life
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:
He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:
And for this, she loves him.
For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.
And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.
They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.
Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-
Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...
In ravenous finality.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple
Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean
The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell
Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright
One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,
But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak
Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,
Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.
Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.
Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ----
My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.
Does not my heat astound you. And my light.
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.
I think I am going up,
I think I may rise ----
The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I
Am a pure acetylene
******
Attended by roses,
By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean.
Not you, nor him.
Not him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old ***** petticoats) ----
To Paradise.
11k
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
You like to party, I am a partier
You like to wander, I am a wanderer
Your thighs are the closet to Narnia
Is it cool if I go and get lost in that?
I'm the lion, the witch in the wardrobe
Massage my lap, I have a sore bone
Of course cold on the dance floor
Like an Eskimo's toes in the North Pole
With both toes poking out of two holes
In the Eskimo socks, I'm hot
Like a cauldron from a warlock
Wearing sweatpants in a sauna
Who's your father? I'm not
I'm motherfuckin' Raven Bowie and here's my ****
Rooster, Cock-a-doodle-doo sir
Take a hit of the hooka, now make it drop
Girl's ***** was bigger than the stomach of Rick Ross
Holy mother mountain of tender tendon to get lost in
Bounce, bounce, that castle ***** that bottom
Make it wobble, wobbly-waddle 'til my third leg has to hobble
You don't want to look back on this night
And think I should have been freaking on a *****
Freak-freaking on a *****
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Hustlin' out of your garage,
it never takes us far.
My hands are in your hair,
now it's all up in the air...
Hard love in your garage,
hey now, we are what we are.
And it's okay darling,
for the stage you're in,
'cause you're still shedding
so much skin.
Push the blood to the tendon -
lend me a hand, save Sunday
for sleeping in.
When the rhythm hits
and the syllables split,
I'm just trying you.
If I get to heaven,
or, if I could only
just get the hell on
out of here,
it would be
'cause I followed you.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Holy **** I'm a ****** got no grit and finds life hard.
Got ***** whipped and now I can't get hard. Gonna sing myself to sleep and dream of discharge.
Walk a mile, fake a smile, i'm stuck as a child.
Fighting my mind, desperately trying not to be evil.
People dying, I see them. A voice, it tells me to eat them.
I know your insides I can practically feel them,
Every bone, every muscle and tendon.
Skinless people feel they need to follow me around,
I try to run but they catch up and pin me to the ground.
Pry my mouth wide, put your tongue inside and suddenly there's no sound.
A white noise fills my mind and a darkness washes over my eyes.
I'm skinless too, I can join those who used to follow me, through the red I see blonde.
Lips i need to kiss, a skinless body I need to hold.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Nostalgia is a man I have memories with,
but no knowledge of.
He is a tree rooted in mystery
with leaves that shade
the hungry mouth of a river
malnourished--
pale skin stretched over tendon.
Release
palm upturned in offering
always offering
even with nothing to give.
Nostalgia
never learned hatred,
but bitterness
cold winter biting at smoking hands
bony fingers raw and red and reaching
out out out
for empty air
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
come along with me
lets look into the life
of the common garden pea
maybe you like them
maybe you do not
but these are my words to
the common garden pea
from me to them
we have all seen them
and had to work out how we eat them
better stuck in mash potato
than balanced on the knife or fork
kids just distribute them so neatly
on the table and the floor
then hold up there plate
and ask for some more
but have you tried to grow them?
if not come on a journey with me
plant some peas in the soil
water them liberally
then let the season warm the earth
after about 14 days or so
you will see little green shoots
place some sticks in
for the peas
likes something to hold on
just like you and me
for the pea has a hard life
as the season moves on
the pea holds out little tendon
that grip on the sticks
then the snails move in
danger will robertson
for in one night
the snail can ****** all of these
the peas that do survive
suddenly come alive
shooting up like rockets
then after the flowers form
all white in the sun
the pods form
and in them form the peas
those sweet nuggets
we love called garden peas
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
the body falls soft
curves collapsing on the edge of
bedspread tangled in cliched prison
escape ropes
tied loose like old tendon,
we are all but used.
I feel the force of Fibonacci
spiraling between ribs
and pelvis, golden ratios
divining skin,
1 to 1.616
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
As school comes to an end, I decide to
spend the summertime with my instrument.
I read music theory for two hours,
but my hands yearn for the touch of six strings.
Fingers position themselves to stroke bliss.
But my phone’s troubled with recurring rings.
**** it was mom telling me I have class!
I raced for my backpack, and I told her:
I will not slack. Papers grew so lonely
without their folder to cuddle them close.
I couldn’t care to organize them cause
usually, I’d lay in my seat repose.
Ionic bonds? What do they even mean?
And what the heck is “double replacement”?
Okay, I should start paying attention.
I grasp the pen. I notice the tension.
As soon as I write, my hands start to shake.
I start over. Now hands begin to ache.
What in the world is happening to me?
Two words: I scream. Head jerks, and my legs shake.
It has to be a dream. It has to be!
Don’t want to move, but I have to take notes.
Why are random words bursting out my throat?
I’ma be real. I need my mommy!
Class is over. I exclaim to mother:
my fingers refuse to stop tremoring.
And I’m getting these tics. What set it off?
First thing I do is reach for my guitar.
I can’t hold it. I can’t ******* grab it.
Eyes of terror stay written on my face.
The next day I was in a wheelchair.
I cannot look straight- straight up to the sky
or look in front and into people’s eyes.
My right-hand curves to the left. A tendon
sinks into my flesh, and my left fingers
cramp up from being intertwined like vines.
They are stiff. Hideous. These are not mine.
But it does get much better with some time.
I can walk again, talk again, and write.
But all good things come with downfalls, don’t they?
My brain disease will come at me with might.
And I refuse to give up on this fight.
There will be a time when I reach stage five.
And I know it won’t be a pretty sight.
I’m ready for what will happen to me.
Dearest guitar, please know you’re my heaven.
Why bother to fret? Cause’ when the time comes
I’ll see you again in a few seconds.
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 4:46 PM UTC
i’m boy with broken jaw
my face and flesh of citrus
fingers dripping resolute
by weight of sweetened tendon
the motion to which i descend
i last resort upon thy tenderloin gloss
touching me under sublunary breath
he melts darkness to sugarfisted ******
i taste of all he ever wanted
it’s a dirtyparadise out here behind the neon nickelcade
day-glo slithering below my belly
just ten bucks, and you’ll get your turn
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
I saw him again
by my side as I wake
in the middle of the night.
A thin naked man
Contorted limbs fit more
for a dog than a man.
His burning scolding breath
on my neck and
he screams at me
I am The Rake
I am The Rake
I am The Rake
Large head, round black
Eyes pierce through me
He peels back my covers
And beckons to me
His hands twist in strange ways
As though not bound by tendon
And he screams
I am The Rake
I am The Rake
I am The Rake
It is still dark as I follow him into the woods
I know what he wants - just for me to wake
He is The Rake.
And he wants my bones.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Bone, muscle, and tendon
Then love, hate, and redemption
An emotional roller coaster
A broken bridge
A few memories we have all hid
A lost word
A forgotten phrase
Time we have lost
And lessons we have gained
A secret, a story
A little bit of gory
But, most importantly
What no one can see
Under my skin
Deep in my heart
That is where you will find the real me
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Life, will take your hands and break every tendon in your fingers
Life, will rip your fingernails off like the 12th ticket in Stop&Shop;'s deli counter line
the cold, dead selects you purchase by the ounce for weekly lunches remind us all
of the patience we practice each day
Patiently waiting in line patiently waiting to buy
He's waiting for her to text back and she is waiting for her heart to attack
She's been hearing the war for years now, gunshot reminders and grenade bombers explode through her bloodstream to haunt any destiny of peace
We want you to be Okay
everyone wants some semblence of comfort but there are needles in my eardrums
the music isn't piercing me anymore
I miss notes and sailboats streaming into me
I know where they are but my fingers are limp
Life will numb your fingers
so when your mother buys you gloves and hats on your birthday
muster the golden mustard stained napkin in your heart and wipe the selfish tears
A piano is unrealistic, that opportunity passed years ago
Be thankful for the very light reflecting off of the silverware, remember
Life will never be simple or fair
you will always be here but wish you are there
Sometimes you will feel like nobody cares
and that's alright
nobody has to care
except for the gremlins that live inside my hair
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
It starts at the bottom
Of my belly,
Right above your
Favorite spot,
Then it pings
And pongs
From elbows to knees,
From toes to shins,
From heart to biceps,
And from head to fingers,
Taking it's final bow
On the parts of my back
You sculpted-
This is how I miss you,
In every bend, crack, snap, and creek
In every bone, vein, muscle, and tendon.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
You make the twist and curdle of muscle look sweet
Hoods of flesh clench
Lines extending towards congratulating champagne toasts
Liquid turned taught
Floating like a pair of scissors
Most subtle razor to ever caress
The tissue paper lips of the floor
You wrap your heady-spice palms
Flourishing and dripping
Every pulse a dropped memory
They whisper of inspiration and dust
Licks of silver swim through you
Eyes misty rocks where dreams go to impale their masters
Commanding the lovely, forming it to fit
Frost spangles the trees that create pillars of tendon
The ease of sandpaper on granite
You make silken
Simple.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
There is a man walking slowly in me
And he’s going through each room, one by one,
Turning on all the lights while passing by
Stripping the scenes with silver dollar eyes.
With a flick of his chicken bone finger
The kitchen lights violently flare up
To reveal tomato stains, upset
Stomachs, windows and broken table legs.
“Call the medic now!”– In the living room
The lights just found choked up throats and down town
Sticky red wine stains that bleat beat up
Little lambs for little peeps and little
Mistakes that become big scabs and big scams
That swallows the shallowest of waters.
Now the man who certainly loves the light
Is in the bathroom where the peeping brights
Gouge and grind the snuffed and lying young man
Till he is but the pulp and rind and juice.
“Where’s the medic?” Screams the mad running blood
“Where’s the ******* medic?” They cry again.
Now he tricks the porch light into being
Forcing it to leer upon this **** scene
Of a man barely living, most likely
Sleeping, with a garden hose stuffed down his
Gorgon throat seeping– weeping – all at once.
Where is he now? The man who loves the lights?
He’s walking to the impressive bedroom.
The lights wrestle and work the shadows down
Looking for the living, the last one home
Hiding away just in his underwear.
The man of lights opens the closet door
Just takes a look at the creature’s features
When he has finished, when he has remarked
He marks the skin with light, then tears it off.
He takes each muscle each tendon and bone
And throws them, crashing the walls as each falls!
Boom boom! Goes the muscle through the bathroom
Boom boom! Goes the bone through the kitchen
Boom boom! Goes the tendon through the bedroom.
Boom boom! Goes the heart through the rooftop
Boom Boom! Goes the head through the frondoor.
There was once a man that walked within me
And he has left the lights to burn on and on
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
.
I'm one tissue shy of calamity,
next to the last soul in humanity.
I am one ounce of pride short of dignity,
and one mph away from velocity.
I'm in one town, you're intensity,
a Master Charge away from identity.
One aching tendon from flexibility,
and one arc'd degree from the university.
Happiness has lost it's frivolity,
I have narrowed down my availability.
Gumby has lost all elasticity.
Will we live beyond infinity?
I've never crossed the lines between serenity and insanity,
has a poet's moon lost it's sensuality?
I am one drink ahead of sobriety.
The second to last to stand in society.
The unforgivable sin elbows my morality,
your pen sells your individuality.
One jail bar between your vulnerability.
Your down to earth qualities mock your vanity.
My daddy never claimed me through paternity,
I was the last kid standing in the maternity.
And just when I thought this poem was through,
you asked me to spend eternity with you.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
when the lighting shatters every last thing you ever thought you needed I'll be here, I'll still be here, my hands wide open like they're soaked in blood, I will pry every last tendon from my bone to prove to you I know what hurt looks like, this, no: this, is not what they call getting better. sometimes our hearts beat for no other reason than they don't know how to stop, sometimes people turn away and leave and never come back and we don't know why, mother, can you hear me? you said there'd be days like this but you never told me how to handle them when they turn into my every day. remember that one time in December? when you finally realized I might need some help or I'd die younger than our dog? I was upstairs contemplating killing myself and you were downstairs screaming about ***** dishes. this is not healing, I'm not going to pretend I know what that is, but I know something's changed, the stars aren't telling me to self-destruct anymore, and that's gotta count for something, right?
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Bent over the painted lines of her road.
Stood a black feathered crow
peeling back a tendon of flesh,
Like a strand of red twizzler candy,
from the tannish white fur
of a dead bunny.
she thought this was cute.
"AWW! THEY'RE KISSING!!"
Her daddy did not correct her.
This memory, he revisits every time she brings a new boy home.
Debates internally,
the tipping scales that balance ignorance and optimism.
If maybe he should have explained the beauty in death, rather than let her beleive her illusions.
The beauty in nature, the circle of life.
Like a cat, she brings home dead animals
Like the owner of a cat,
He is unimpressed.
Maybe if he told her the bunny was dead, she would stop offering herself to the crows.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
Anyone that's ever said cash doesn't equate to fun has never had none
They've never had to wonder where their next meals gonna come from
Never been one wrong move away from watching your life become an undesirable one
Never seen a bright future as an attainable one
I'm sure we've all shared a park bench at some point with someone
But has it ever been overnight, shivering, posted up with a veteran ***
Never been an unsung hero, never feasted on a moldy bun
Never had to decide whether to pay some of this bill or a little bit of that one
Never had a car run on hope and fumes, never relied solely on your heat to come from the sun
Can't see the glass half full or half empty, a waterless situation
Never looked at a gun and thought it the best possible outcome
No option but to literally try to out run your problem
But you can't cause you wanted to stay "grounded" so you cut every tendon
So much tension, it's got ya looking at the knife again thinkin' it could relieve some
Never laied at your lowest point to weak to get up and been looked down on
It's a sad truth how unbelievably common it is to stumble upon...
This, but ignorance is bliss so no action to fix the problem is taken
You might have been one of these people had you walked in a different shoe when it all begun
©2018
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
i am strong.
i am patient.
i am brave.
what doesn't **** me--
wears me down to my barest bones.
breaks my will.
makes me stronger.
like building muscle-
wearing down each tendon, each fiber.
until it hurts.
until it no longer works.
Slowly it will rebuild itself.
And so will my pride.
my dignity.
My Power.
I am Strong.
I am Patient.
I am Brave.
What hasn't killed me-
has made me Stronger.
You lose, Claire.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC