Not Really My Type

I wasn’t actually born the strong, silent type so much as I was broken down to my base components and placed into that mold

And everything about me that would have otherwise grown outside of that mold was simply cut off and discarded

I had to put so much energy into containing myself and I have finally decided to spend that energy elsewhere

Namely, on healing everything that broke living within that mold

Like how my wrist still makes this weird clicking noise from when 9-year-old me rubbed dirt on a fractured arm and didn't tell nobody about it

Like how I have to check the whites of my eyes every day because

There’s five empty bottles on my coffee table and a seven more on the floor

That I will sweep under the couch if ever anyone bothers knocking on the front door

There’s a first-size hole in my living room wall because of how frustrated I am with my inability to look people in the eyes

There’s a miserable bastard living in my bathroom mirror who is begging me to end it all

And while he is far from charming, goddamn it if he ain't convincing

I don’t think this is what strength looks like but I’m damn sure this is what silence put me through

Meanwhile, there are people who will lay head to sidewalk tonight and wake up tomorrow believing they can turn it around

There are single parents out there who are juggling more than one job to raise even more children

There are nurses saving lives from doctor’s mistakes for half the fucking pay

And even though the government clearly gave up on their schools

There are teachers refusing to give up on their students

There are students refusing to give up on themselves

There are freedom fighters refusing to give up period

I think perhaps maybe that is what strength actually looks like

Meanwhile, I am paying out the ass so that I can dig up the worst, most awful parts of my past

To relive the most painful shit that I barely survived the first time around

All so that I get the privilege of watching my therapist cry about it because I still can not muster a single tear for myself

I highly doubt this is what strength looks like but that is all that silence gained me

I was never the strong, silent type; I was merely forced to perpetuate that lie

The lie that weakness can not be tolerated

The lie that weakness must be abhorred

The lie that weakness must be berated and beaten out of us little boys

Lest we fail to become men; Broken, angry men

Every back hand that beat my big head; Every belt that bruised my backside

Yes, I lived through it but it did not make me stronger; This is not what strength looks like

If you really wanna call me a survivor then fine, I’ll agree with you

Maybe you can even call me resilient and I won’t argue with you

I mean I will argue but I'm really working towards not and just letting people be nice to me

It was always a lie to call me strong and it was so unfortunately true to call me silent

But I am done living in that mold

I am quiet no more; I am reserved no longer

I am unmasked; I am vulnerable; I am seen and for the first time in my life I am finally arrived

I am here and my name is David 0mega