I'm not a bad bitch—and perhaps I never will be. You don't know me at all—if you claim otherwise. I need tender, loving treatment— Not motivational bad bitch posts. I need it slow and patient—not to be put under pressure as a soldier in a war that I never asked to be a part of. You don't heal through toughening up— You heal through gentle, loving presence. But, perhaps, the most importantly... You don't heal in solitude. You CAN'T heal in solitude— Not your ugly, unlovable, unwanted parts. Not the parts that make you scream and have you looking at your face in the bathroom mirror, with horror and disgust. No... for that... we need another human being. Our mirror. Our reflection. Our love and saving grace. 'Cause only through love, ugly things become beautiful Dark things become light And the most twisted knife of hatred and despair Can become dull and no longer hurt your bloodied arm. And maybe some burdens don't become light as a feather Not right away, not always, not ever; But maybe... Someone looking at us in all our ugliness... And suppressing the urge to run away—when they see the monster... Maybe... Just maybe then... The spell is cast off—and the monster becomes something lovable. Something worthy of love. 'Cause love... Only love... And love alone... Can make monstrosity feel less like a curse. Maybe it won't turn the monster into a princess; that can't be done. Maybe it even shouldn't. But maybe... even the monster can know love—in her ugly, wicked heart. So, I'm not a bad bitch... and perhaps I never will be.
