I can do anything, with effort.
Like perform twenty push-ups while telling you about my family's upstanding citizenry.
Or turn a casual acquaintance into a best friend. Now, when we fight, it makes my stomach hurt.
I can even wake up early to meditate on my limitless potential, and pray that your husband comforts you from beyond.
I often forget to pray for you, but when I do, I feel lucky, for the opportunity.
I've broken free from compulsive escape routes, several.
Once, I rappelled down a cliff to show my boyfriend I was stronger than he (he never respected my strength).
I used to smoke cigarettes, but I quit out of spite, to prove to a different boyfriend I was stronger than he (he respected me more than I loved myself).
My last boyfriend didn't love himself, and I knew better than to think I could make him.
I've learned to learn, instead of resist. I seek to amend for the collateral damage, the cost of my education.
I can do anything, with courage.
I can do anything, with wisdom.
It is my responsibility, and my privilege, to seek my unbreakable joy.
And when I throw rocks in protest, I'm grateful that your hand finds mine in the night.
