Do you know what it’s like to be so strong that your friends can shove thorns through your gut, standing so close you spit blood on their face while yet still smiling at them with your devious eyes, daring them to rip it back out? Letting your flushed cheeks and kind lips warn them of what will happen next.
Do you know what it’s like to be so strong you’ll stitch yourself back together only moments after your heart and soul were torn from your body? Blood still splashing onto steady hands with a fine needle and thread.
Or when you’ve forgotten how to cry when you feel the whipping splinters of once kind words now turned sour?
What about when your hands are shaking and you know that old wound is hemorrhaging, causing black spots in your vision and shame in your veins, but still all you’ll do is laugh at some silly joke because you won’t let them know?
Do you know what it’s like to be so strong you’ve become your own worst enemy?
If your answers were no then good, thank your god if you worship one. Please promise me you’ll never get this strong. It’s a very lonely place.