A Whore's Mask

Few can touch a whore's heart.
Far fewer can touch her soul.

Her strength.
Masks the fragile pieces she shelters deep in her core.

Yet provides a convenient excuse to inflict selfish wounds.
A perfect reason to shrug off a careless blow.

So strong, she can take it.
So cold, she doesn't feel it.

Few hear her cries.
Far fewer see her tears.

Some may take joy in her pain.
Some look on and do nothing when she falls.

Bleeding and bruised.

Stumbling and shattered.

A fleeting glimpse before the curtain drops.

A brief opening before the door locks tightly shut.

In the end.

All she has is her courage.

In the end.

All she has is her strength.

In the end.

She holds up her mask.

And she smiles so prettily.

~A Kat Thinking Too Much

A few comments over the last couple of months and another this evening reminded me of the general rule that the strongest are treated more often like shit, while the weakest are often more cherished and coddled.  Why is that?  I've seen it over and over again.  I've experienced it more than I can count.  People typically admit that the strong one is typically worth soooo much more, yet it seems to be the weakest are given more.