The truth: Like a cold steel cylinder, hammer, powder, and lead. Pressed and pointed at the back of my head.
“You can have any boy you want, so why would you want me.”
My words slithered from my mouth, and wrapped around her tongue. Squeezing it like an Anaconda, she chokes speechless.
My motionless glare, her mouth is partially open, and she’s playing with her hair. She can’t think of a word to tell me.
The truth does that to people.
It puts on a pair of brass knuckles, and clobbers you across the face.
There is that pinnacle point between the time frame of Truth’s brass knuckle shattering your metaphorical jaw, and the point where you lay on the floor having a flash back of realization of everything you ever saw.
After you lay there defeated, you knees are weak, strength and hopes depleted.
It showers down on you, enlightenment. You realize that you needed this wakeup call. You’re grateful Truth had you on speed dial.
You pick yourself up off the ground. You’re broken down. The mountain you must struggle up again is waiting.
Listen you get another chance, you’re not dead. Perhaps this time you’ll think with a clearer head.
