When I Was A Teen, I Was

That's Not A Real Answer.' Says Who?' Says Me. I Mean Real Fear, Like Of Failure, Of Death, Of Regret. Like That. Something That Keeps You Awake Nights, Questioning Your Very Existence.' Clowns.

It Didn't Make You Noble To Step Away From Something That Wasn't Working, Even If You Thought You Were The Reason For The Malfunction. Especially Then. It Just Made You A Quitter. Because If You Were The Problem, Chances Were You Could Also Be The Solution. The Only Way To Find Out Was To Take Another Shot.

"so You're Always Honest," I Said. "aren't You?" "no," I Told Him. "i'm Not." "well, That's Good To Know, I Guess." "i'm Not Saying I'm A Liar," I Told Him. He Raised His Eyebrows. "that's Not How I Meant It, Anyways." "how'd You Mean It, Then?" "i Just...i Don't Always Say What I Feel." "why Not?" "because The Truth Sometimes Hurts," I Said. "yeah," He Said. "so Do Lies, Though."

Society. The Same Society, I Might Add, That Dictates That Little Girls Should Always Be Sugar And Spice And Everything Nice, Which Encourages Them Not To Be Assertive. And That, In Turn, Then Leads To Low Self-esteem, Which Can Lead To Eating Disorders And Increased Tolerance And Acceptance Of Domestic, Sexual, And Substance Abuse." "you Get All That From A Pink Onesie?" Leah Said After A Moment.

Like So Many Before Them, They Didn't Care That My Dad Was Only The Messenger. They Still Wanted To Shoot Him.