That is the biggest crock of shit.
Words don’t hurt?!
Words hurt the most.
I can deal with bruises and cuts.
They are physical.
The stages of healing are tangible.
It fucks a person up, absolutely.
But at least there is something to focus on…
A cut to be washed and bandaged, to keep from infection.
A bruise that changes colors, so tender and black at first… fading to blues, purples, then the horrible shades of green and yellow.
A healing that can be measured and trusted.
A conclusion, recovery.
The wounds go so damn deep.
Words tend to sneak back into your brain.
Months, even years later, the words are stuck on replay.
Sometimes those echoes hurt as much as when they were first uttered.
Words cannot be erased and they can never be taken back.
Words break hearts.
Words deplete and destroy.
No thank you.
Give me the stick.
She puts on her eyeliner like she’s going to war.
Lines, blacker than black, to fortify her resolve.
One look at the finished product, and you know where she stands-
The thicker the line, the more frightened the girl.
Lately she is afraid.
Always ready for battle, with thick black lines, slightly winged…
As if to say she’s got this, but could fly away at any moment.
Her eyes sometimes betray her fear.
But her eyeliner is solid and true: unchanged by oceans of tears, holding fast…
Those perfect lines are not her crutch.
Instead, they are her vitamins.
Eyeliner certainly doesn’t make the girl, but for this girl…
Eyeliner gives her strength.
It is her armor and her battle cry.