words have meaning
behind the slim disguise of a veiled, fuck you
is a real true fuck you
I had to go back through all texts from my ex to understand how mean people can be when they're hurting. it may be that I was a robe, a mantle, worn or discarded, to cover the wound. the hurt was there without me. I was topical.
I am words to: asshole; piece of shit. I said those things, nimbly arching my vicious claws when I ran out of corners or stumbled on exhaustion.
words said in defense can be reknit into an attack. a no sum loss door of falling; a game of perpetually shifting rules and a lot of changed locks. I was not the key.
I know, now, that love, empathy, compassion are not words or even actions: they are a state of being. love is greater than and drives out fear; anger drives out love.
love and anger do not coexist.
my body is riddled with scars that I laid down. those are mine, those victories of survival speak of times when I ran out of words but had faith that my place in this universe was precious.
from chaya lovingly
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