The rebels. The bitches. The sluts. The black sheep.
This is for the one that can’t catch a fuckin break. The one that doesn’t know any better. The one that can’t see a way out. The one that’s been told she’s nothing so often, she decided to believe them.
This is for that bitch that fights back. The one that is never afraid. The one that always finds the strength. The one whose wall is so fuckin high...she don’t even know it’s there.
This is for that girl that’s the life of the party. The fun one. The one that’s always down for a good time. The one that’s so empty she’ll grasp at anything to fill her up. Anything.
This is for the hellraiser. The one that starts her own fires just to feel it burn. The protector. The rioter. The feel my wrath and may you feel it deep, kind of one. She is the guardian, the protector, the keeper of the gate.
That pain, the shit you’re hiding behind, that price you paid for a metric shitton of dysfunction, whatever shape your shit may come in, that’s what you gotta fix man and that’s the part that’s the hardest to fix.
It isn’t easy, especially for those of us that had less than stellar upbringings. We’re taught to be strong, cry in private, to put our heads down and just keep going...because there’s no way out. You can’t run that hard your entire life and not expect to break.
But let it be known, there’s a way out...and it starts with loving yourself more than anyone else ever could.