Acidic Art

Standing up with Swords.

A new girl that was quickly labeled the new "whore" showed up to bring her version of hell on anyone and everyone this year;

The very year I took back my confidence

And broke through what was left over of my past insecurities.

A year younger than I, 

yet trying to make something of herself;

Something to prove she was worthy of worship

Or love

Or something.

She was broken,

but buried her pieces in a box that was coated with so many layers of gorilla glue it probably would have to take God Himself to open it

and stitch them back together.

Rumors about her spread like a match was struck on gasoline

And they grew until she screamed so loud,

Everyone could hear her voice

and the cracks it came with.

Until she stopped defending herself

and fought with knives on her tongue instead;

Cutting at everything and everyone that tried to bring her down

But really, it backfired.

She had only gained a new name for herself.

Not just a whore, for the guy she sucked off backstage during play practice

But a bitch, for slicing others with her teeth.

Giving scars to those she didn't even speak to, 

Or re-opening wounds that had previously healed

-including mine.

Her mistake with me was what she didn't expect.

She didn't cut me to my face

(She was too afraid of me, and rightly so)

I think if I asked her now if she could do it again, she wouldn't.

Choosing to slice me apart to my sister, of all people

Why she thought that was a good idea, I'll never know.

My sister told me about her attempt to ruin me

and to get my sister onto her "side"

sending a signal to my brain that flipped a switch that must have said "shrink back" or "fight back"

A year prior, the switch would have probably been frozen at the shrink

and I would have put on a mask

-But that girl was a ghost to who I had become.

So when my brain sent me to fight

I let my body follow

Unleashing something inside of me I had not yet seen.

I had 5 minutes to act upon my switch

and I took it

but no, I didn't run

I didn't yell

I didn't scream

I lowered my voice to a raspy whisper I didn't recognize was my own.

I asked her politely to talk

A false smile painted across my lips,

as she had no idea I knew anything about

her tricks she tried to play behind my back.

I even took her hand

/Gently/

and led her to the corner of the choir room before the bell was set to ring.

I made sure I was in a dominant position

literally backing her into the corner

but making myself seem like I didn't know it was happening

and I continued,

So slick,

So sharp,

So surreal.

Once I saw her fall to weakness

Tears, streaming down her face.

Looking into her wild eyes, 

I tilted my head and asked her,

"Are you going to apologize to me, and all the others you have cut out of your own insecurities?"

Closing her eyes,

she muttered her small "sorry"

and I slipped away into the Altos

watching her stumble into the Sopranos;

Defeated and done.

I've never since heard her use her old knives,

and I became the talk of the town.

-Me, and my Standing Swords.