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Why We FightI think this as I fight my final battle.
I know it's futile, I know I will lose.
My strength is too far gone, but I keep fighting,
Fighting for you.
These cuts that would leave scars, if only they would heal.
You show me what's worth fighting for, and tell me
"You don't need to be strong to be brave."
The sweat drips in my eyes as I swing my blade around
And cut through all their throats;
I find the will to stand.
The power comes from you, the thought of who you are
What you stand for
Why you fight.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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