i am in competition for something i don't really want. i have even gone so far as to believe that i need to be left standing with some sort of consolation prize as my companion just so i can mutter "i am the victor" "this is my victory." "these are the spoils to prove my worth."

[and be happy with that.]

so here i am - fighting for what it's worth - except that it's not really worth anything. yes, she is guilty. yes, she is fighting to lose.

[yes, she has failed you.]

at least that's what it feels like. i don't know - and perhaps that's for the best because if i did know - i would make choices alluding to such and my world would then be projected through a much different perception than what i now call my own.

everything that happens to you - by you - through you - affects you in some way. every word - every glance - every stranger who has smiled at you in passing - how you chose to react - how you chose to experience - shapes who you are today. we tend to think that it is those moments in which the world stopped rotating on its imaginary axis - where everything was perfectly perfect for a fraction of our lives - as the situations that mold us. no. these are only the reward. the coming of age of a thousand little day-to-day choices. instead. the in between sections of bitter-sweet struggle - of peeling yourself up off the pavement - seemingly broken - seemingly misused - and still finding the strength to inch forward. finding the understanding. the voice that allows you to cry out so that all may hear and take heed : "i am not misused." "i will not be made broken."

the creation of beauty: within ourselves. the discovery of such is what makes us beautiful.