When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
It came in a dream
my face all blue
she saw my death
somehow she new
stay home this night
she begged of me
but a young girl wants to be free
the knife plunged in deep
I recalled her words and began to weep
stay home this night she begged of me
but a young girl wants to be free
the rope around me
I did not struggle
for I knew my fate
should have listened to my mother
but now it's much too late
I close my eyes and wait to die
and finally fall asleep
I wake to hear the end of her prayer
"I pray the Lord your soul to keep"
I open my eyes
I am not dead
Mom has a wash cloth on my head
You have a fever
It's pretty high
try to sleep she says with a sigh
The little girl who begs for mercy is away,
her angry alter-ego took her place.
The little girl might possibly come back someday,
But now her eyes gleam red on her fair face.
All the wicked things she said and did,
It was not her but that evil thing.
Maybe the little girl just hid,
Afraid of all the alter-ego may bring.
She is evil, can't you understand?
The sadness, the anger and hatred she gives,
Is it possible to withstand?
But maybe inside that evil thing, the little girl who begs for mercy lives.
Sweeter than a flower special as could be
A little girl softly asleep
Kneeling in prayer singing a tune
Beautiful young one baby girl
See her face glowing
Know that she's going to a better place
Surrounded by angels
Near the pearly gates
Safely in the sacred arms
Looking up at Jesus face
Sweeter than a flower
Special as could be
A little girl softly asleep
Close your eyes right now
See her going
To a better place
Your little baby girl
I do not know?
teddy bears, baby dolls ,butterfly kisses i miss it all
first word first bike first guy i ever liked
you were there through it all you helped me up after every fall
you were the only woman i could love to hate
no one else can ever take your place...
you always tried to keep us tight, you told me falling for the wrong guy would hurt
I'll never admit it but you were right.....
I've done some wrong broke your trust and lied you never let it show but i know u were
I know i'm your baby girl but i'm not a baby any more you've got to let me live my
I've got to learn from my mistakes live for my happiness but being your baby girl is
something we both will always miss......
A cold autumn morning,
new rains have arrived
today not so ordinary
A little girls birthday goes by
she had an accident
she awoke in her bed wet
today she is six, a present she did
A day without the jug cord
would be her birthday wish
Her hope is soon faded,
for there her mother stood,
A birthday beating just begun-
her mothers' way
of a little fun
"you dirty little b!#@h"!
I'm sick of washing your sheets
this will fix you...and fix you good
till you're black and blue
...or till I'll make you bleed"!
Happy Birthday to me...
through aches and tears
I am happy
I survived to date six years
alone in her closet
she'd make this her car
travel to far away happy lands
go shopping for a star
once she bet the jug cord
she collected up the sheets
took her mums' old coal shovel
buried them under the house
darkest corner beneath,
her father gave her sixpence
every time she was dry,
or if she wet, he'd make her wetter
he'd put her in a cold bath
the little girl would trick him,
moving the sheets about
her mother would come in the room
catch the little girl out
the little girl did such things
out of fear she lied
the little girl was in a place
she was trying to survive
she adapted to her father
she adapted to her mother
though difficult it was
it affected everything
looking back the way she was
she changed her life completely
eradicated the fear
her life gets better and better
year after year
her mum and dad to this day
the little girl forgave
she understands the way they were
a woman she has grown
forgiving to her grave
she struggles on her birthday
preferring to enjoy
her spirit accepts what happened
on that day the present
I do not know?
I awoke to her screaming in the early morning grey. He knew he
needed to leave
had to go away. The tears were failing he could no longer hide. So much
deep inside. Young tired unknowing eyes awaken by her mothers scream. He
looking, his heart breaking, tears began to stream. The little girl ran past her
and ran to him in the early morning grey. The little girl looked up to him. Dad, was
word she could say...
His heart began to pound, the little girls tears falling to the ground. They hugged
cried together in the early morning grey. The mother ripped her away from him,
go away. Placing the little girl inside the house. The little girl ran to the window,
listioned as quiet as a mouse...
Through the window she heard no sound, her mother pushed him, stumbling he
fell to the ground.
As he rose beginning to stand, he noticed the gun she had in her right hand. He
wanted to move had began to step away, One bullet fired in the early morning
Then I heard the woman scream, what have I done? Looking at him and then at
the gun. I picked myself off the floor. I stepped forward and opened my front door.
I found the little girl by his side in the early morning grey.As he began to die, dad
was the only word she could say.
I do not know?
It was the summer of 1938 when the whisper of fate broke through the airless
And two curious children got to their feet the little girl knew something was not
Little Jack the baby, stood in the middle of the room, the dirt floor cool on his bare
his sister did not stand, but walked over to the screen door unmindful of the
Who told the girl what happened? Could it be that angles spoke softly in her
She looked at her little brother Jack, and told him what she knew, in her voice
was no fear.
“It’s daddy you know, he’s not coming back Jackie” she said in a quietly hushed
Little Jack was so young, and he didn’t understand. But daddy, he never did
Their mother you see neither one can truly recall, maybe for them she never
She walked through their lives on a stage of drama never doing the things a
But they remember the rainy day in a town that is now gone, when daddy was laid
Their mother you see showed up late, in a new car and wearing her brand new
The Two though they went on, as children do. The little girl mothering her little
So small and alone, they looked for food in the trash the little girl with her brother
on her back.
Mother was there somewhere, laughing in the dark secrecy, loving what men
The children to her became baggage, inconvenient, a hindrance that she just
could not abide.
Some in the town began to take pity, watching the rag dolls as they walked
through the street,
When evening fell the town went home, so did the Two in their frayed clothes and
bare little feet.
But time can bring sweet escape, and that came to the Two through the blessing
of a new life,
It was their fate not to grow up together, one knowing peace the other life colored
But the Two would meet through out the years for their destiny is intertwined in
blood and history,
Time marched on and as they now age they share in each others lives, a lasting
bond and mystery.
She can no longer carry Jack on her back, but she has always carried him in her
heart and mind,
And to Jack, his sister has always been more than words can explain, more than
most will ever find.
(W)- A real woman knows that the wages of sin is death so she is not concerned about the wages of a real man, because money comes and goes like day and night; but true love comes just every blue moon. A real woman isn't loud and doesn't have to be the center of attention. Money is a gold-diggers virtue, while patience is a real woman’s virtue. A real woman is always wary of the image she displays to the world because she knows her children are watching her every move. A real woman’s wisdom comes from the teachings of her elders and the experiences and hardships life brings. A real woman is the wings that help a broken man learn to fly again. When you become the object of a real woman’s affection, winning is the only option.
(O)- A real woman’s main obligation is to better herself, before she attempts to become someone’s better half. A real woman is very obliged with all that God has blessed her with. When a man takes a real woman for granted, she makes up her mind to put him away into oblivion. A real woman is use to jumping hurdles because overcoming obstacles in life keeps her on the right track. A real woman doesn't spend her time worrying if failure is around the corner, because she occupies her freedom chasing her dreams in her most comfortable running shoes. A real woman is a hopeless romantic ready to be wooed with an odyssey of love with a real man by her side.
(M)- A real woman’s presence is magnanimous and captures attention because of the poised and elegant stature of her classy nature. A real woman is like the magnet of ecstasy. All women don't attend college or hold prestigious employment, but for many being the Valedictorian of mothers everywhere is the major of their lives. A real woman respects the art of marriage and believes in monogamy. A real woman’s life is the motion picture of sophistication. The mythology of a woman began within a man’s ribs and ends in the beat of his heart.
(A)- A real woman sticks to her man like glue and never abandons his side. A real woman has the ability to do anything a man can. A real woman has the power to fill the abyss of a man’s pains with joy. A real woman prays with her other half because faith is the key of remaining on one accord. A real woman will amaze you with the way she adapts to changes in her ambiance. A real woman is the architect of her own destiny.
(N) A real woman needs a man to understand and love her for everything she is and for everything she is not because a good support system is a leading factor in longevity within relationships. A real woman is the nexus between love and happiness. When you converse with a real woman you will realize that she is nimble with her every response. No man can ignore the nymph of a real woman, because it is in her D.N.A to be notable.
Thank you – Zamreen Zarook
Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.
Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.
People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.
Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.