mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- weakness The thing I could have said, when he told me how weak I was, is that I can really take a punch. I can shut myself off, right, something between hypnosis and meditation and like how Wendy Darling can fly when she thinks happy thoughts. I can keep my eyes dry, power down, the lights on but the only one home locked tight in the basement, the sweet blue bruises he left on my back like when a lover slips and nibbles a bit too hard. Not real pain, not really really real. When he said I was weak I should have told him about how there is a difference between how much you want to take and how much you really can before the veil slips, before the body betrays you by crumbling when you know, you know you can take it, you swear you can, you won't let him win. He said I was weak but you know I never cried except for that first time, at first because little children have all the best places to go inside of themselves and then later because tears meant defeat and I was stubborn even when my arms were pinned and his hands were wrapped around my throat, I was stubborn even then. So he said, fragile, weak, that I couldn't take it, I wanted to say but didn't, wanted to say that you never know how strong a person is until you try to crush them. 12:11 a.m. - 2007-03-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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