Sometimes I look up at the sky and think “how did I get so fucking lucky?”. So lucky to be able to look up at cotton candy clouds, tinged with the colors of a beautiful sunset, and gifted with a mind that can appreciate it in all it’s glory. Do you think a cow ever looks at the sky in admiration for it’s beauty? How about a dog or a cat?

Yet here we are, as humans, with the ability to let something so beautiful warm our hearts, whether they be full of love or hate.

My body.

My body is sore. It is strong. It is sore because it is strong. I make it lift things, and then put them back down. Heavy things. And by doing this, my legs grow thicker, stronger, sturdier. My shoulders become harder, like stone if I flex them hard enough. Above all this, my mind gets stronger too. I have overcome, I overcame. I have been, I am. I’ve taken what I thought was my last breath. I’ve given up…I’ve started again. I’ve looked death in the face and I felt fear. There is no shame in that. But today I stand tall. I stand strong and I will stand like this until my last breath comes.

I am a body builder. I am the epitome of strength, physically. And because a forgotten mind is a useless mind, I always remember my own. Bring it on world, I’m finally ready for you.


The hero of Greek mythology. Known for his strength and bravery. But like anyone else, he had a weakness. One of his heels was not in proper working order. Thus, the tendons that connect our heel to our ankle is named “Achilles’s Tendon”. Without it, we shall not walk. With it injured, we are unable to perform activities of daily life. We could not run, we could not jog or even jump with joy. It is such an integral part of our body, yet we take it for complete granted. And I’m not mad about it. I’m guilty of it too. But what lesson can we learn from this small, yet detrimental part of our anatomy?

I’ll leave it up for discussion.


My mother was not loving. As a child, I was loved, but she was not loving. I don’t remember hugs and kisses. Perhaps they stopped as soon as I was old enough to comprehend love and affection on a cognitive scale. I always felt like a nuisance. Like I was in the way; not doing something correctly. My mother didn’t beat me, although she slapped me a few times. I think I deserved them all. I threw a tantrum once in a store. My one act of rebellion as a child. I was terrified of my mother, but I did it anyways. She would get this fire in her eyes when she was mad at me…it almost said “You know better.” I wanted a bunny rabbit stuffed animal. I still don’t know if she ended up buying it for me because everyone in the store was staring at me, feeling sorry for me as my mom hauled my sad, tear streaked ass up to the cash registers, but she went back and she got that damn bunny and I slept with it for 5 years. That was one of the few acts of kindness I can remember from my mom.

When we moved into her best friends house because we were broke and homeless, I met my second mother. She was one of the most amazing women I have ever met. She was kind, and strong and beautiful. And she knew everything. One time my stomach hurt really bad and I didn’t want to tell my mom because I knew she would get mad at me. I went to sit by the swimming pool and put my feet in. Lisa was outside too and asked me what was wrong. “Stomach hurts” I said as I doubled over in pain. She told me to fold as much of myself over towards the pool as I could. “It’s probably just gas but it can hurt a lot sometimes.” It went away within 10 minutes. These are the small things I remember from my childhood. Small acts of kindness from others. They were so rare they stick out in my memory like a bookmark. A mark for a time in my life when the world wasn’t so loud. When it wasn’t so angry. When it was simpler because I didn’t know a damn thing about it.

They say the world isn’t a cruel place after all. That it just comes off that way. Like it has a chronic case of resting bitch face. But to me, when I look back, I’ve received so much cruelty from the world it almost starts to outweigh the kindness. It seems no matter where I turn there’s someone waiting to belittle….to disrespect…to try and make me feel small. I am small. I am a dot on this planet. But like every other dot, I feel. I think. I am. And if I lose that then who am I? If I lose that then I am nothing.

The moment I become a doormat is when my life ends. I am a sensitive person. Overly empathetic to some standards. A completely hopeless romantic that doesn’t believe in love. I am all of that and more and yet I feel like I’m nothing most of the time.

I want the world to be quiet for a damn second, so I can finally feel alive.