Looking back on the mistakes I've made (read: men I trusted/loved), it's a wonder I made it this far without going either certifiably insane or Lizzy Borden on them. There was the redneck who had great drugs (which is pretty much how we stayed together), the punk rocker who thought I was his maid (see also: redneck), the one who knocked me up and then said that he'd raise the baby when I died from giving birth (oooh, what a winner HE was), the agoraphobic who was skilled at manipulation and degradation and then, his best friend came along and convinced me that he was the good one, when in reality he was worse for me than all of them combined. And these are just the major ones from my adulthood, mind you. I've made more mistakes than National Geographic has issues, but I'm still here. I'm still alive. I'm still strong, stronger than I was then, and strong enough to know that should any of those I've not forgiven (the punk & I are fast friends to this day, thanks to some reality checks that were sorely needed) happen to cross my path, there will be no hesitation to show them just how strong I am now.
A gal doesn't need muscles to show her strength.
This may seem to come from nowhere, and maybe it does, but I wanted to get it out before I forgot. Not that there's much chance of erasing memories, but each little bit I expel from my head makes space up there for something more pleasant, more positive.
Yesterday, a friend I've never met in person was kind enough to make a little video of him playing the mandolin and shared it with me. He lives in London, I am in america, and my mind is still blown that this kind of technological thing is possible, but the point here is that a man with nothing to gain did something nice and shared it with me.
That is exactly the kind of man this world needs more of, immediately.
Let's trade my exes in for more men like my London friend. Let's do away with the abusers, the manipulators, the tricksters and the rapists and replace them all with wonderfully kindhearted men who don't need muscles to show their strength either.
A gal doesn't need muscles to show her strength.
This may seem to come from nowhere, and maybe it does, but I wanted to get it out before I forgot. Not that there's much chance of erasing memories, but each little bit I expel from my head makes space up there for something more pleasant, more positive.
Yesterday, a friend I've never met in person was kind enough to make a little video of him playing the mandolin and shared it with me. He lives in London, I am in america, and my mind is still blown that this kind of technological thing is possible, but the point here is that a man with nothing to gain did something nice and shared it with me.
That is exactly the kind of man this world needs more of, immediately.
Let's trade my exes in for more men like my London friend. Let's do away with the abusers, the manipulators, the tricksters and the rapists and replace them all with wonderfully kindhearted men who don't need muscles to show their strength either.
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