Bring It. You Can’t Even Touch Me.

Author’s note: Sometimes I need a reminder that I am indestructible. I figure that if I need it, others might need it too. So here’s a re-post. Obviously I wrote it when I was still teaching teenagers, but that makes it no less powerful. Whatever you’re going through– head up. You have not come so far to fail now.


I am invincible. I have stood on mountains of my own making, built and scaled in the name of what I could be. What I am. I have lived lives you would not dream of, screamed in the face of whatever reality has tried to lower me to standards that are less than worthy, and defeated foes that tried so desperately to crush me in a million ways. I have stomped down on anything that was beneath me and made myself greater than what was expected. I am the rock that withstands fires, the tree that withstands floods, and the soul that withstands whatever baseless and basic slings that you would throw at me. I have overcome every obstacle, screamed in defiance against every turmoil, and I have succeeded. I am more than whatever you see in me. I am a rage and fire that you cannot even sense, hidden behind something that is so much more than what you perceive. I am greatness.

And yet, yet… The words you sling at me… Your petty, overly-simplified, indefinite, and often misspelled maledictions… somehow they still hurt. They still scratch against this skin that I molded from titanium when I was your age, and they find ways to crack it. There is no word you can say that I have not already heard a thousand times. Often from my own mouth. There is nothing you can do to me that I have not already experienced at my own hand. And yet you know nothing of any of it. I hold my head high and let your sewage-filled currents wash against me, because I know I am stronger than any of it. And I know that you need to vent these things as much as I did when I was you.

You will never know how deep your words burrow into my skin. Because they are but papercuts against scartissue. You will never see the wounds that have been left on a lifetime of knowing that every word you say is true, because I have covered them so carefully in this suit of titanium and self-worth that they are barely visible. I have lived through more than you will ever know, and yet you think that you can knock me from this mountain with your untrained, untalented and barbed tongue? You think you could even come close to what I am with your childlike vocabulary and uncertain reasoning? You scream your words as loud as you can because you’ve not yet learned that precision is greater than force. That everything you hate about me is only a reflection of whatever it is you fear will come with the future.

I do not fear you. But I do hear you. And I only wonder if you, too, will use that anger to crumble mountains.

Because what else do we do with it?

Author’s Note: Did you like this post? Check out You Look at Me but You Don’t Know Me.

 

 

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