Perhaps it is best that we are not entirely different from everyone else. To go back to Ruldolph – yes he was different, and he was a hero, but he “wasn’t allowed to join any reindeer games” until he proved that his differences made him valuable. The truth of the matter is, in a society that praises individuality, we simultaneously frown upon it.
They say that your body is your home, but in this home, he is never alone. They all come to visit, late at night, uninvited, and always over staying their welcome. The more he asks them to go away, the more they plant their roots to stay.
She has been aware of this for quite some time. Each joke that he makes allows one to escape. She catches them, hoping that they will stick to her and let him be. She tries to be the hero like the ones from the stories that she read while growing up. But she knows the truth. In this world, heroes do not exist – not the way that they are fantasized to be. We are all just scared, alone, and afraid. She is no different yet she attempts to suit up and be the protector, still frightened.
We are all too familiar with the stories involving a woman’s love. A love typically accompanied by sacrifices. We accept these stories because she’s in LOVE. Love is a beautiful thing, but too often we are subjected to a woman’s love for a man. So often that we believe that such a love is a part of a woman’s nature. Wouldn’t it be nice for a different narrative?
Up until recently, The Hunchback of Notre Dame would be the only time anything on screen would move me to tears. I did not cry as Mufasa died nor did I shed a single tear in Titanic – only Quasimodo resonated with me, he not only rang the bells of Notre Dame, but the bells of my heart.
I do not need a gun to protect –
I need to load minds
with the ammo needed
to fight the notion that
shootings are expected.
I need to shield them
among those who believe
that their lives
equate to $5.46.
$650 = 1 AR-15.
Do the math. It does not add up.
I refuse to add another factor to this equation.
We are living in the dystopia
that we used to read about – except
chapters keep ending
without any promises
To this story’s end.
And if you scoff at love’s power,
You have never seen
Become a mother.