Waging Wars

We wage wars everyday.  Most of these wars are indecent but supported, they make us heroes regardless of the many faces of morality. Other wars, the most dangerous ones, are waged against ourselves. It is these conflicts that break us, that change us, that keep us honest or keep us hiding behind an image.

I am doomed to constant battle, because waving the white flag, surrendering,  would mean death.  My heart would go on beating but I would have to stop telling the truth about who I really am, and honestly, I have just gotten started.  I will admit to doing things backwards in the eye of society, I have yet to live up to any expectation that societal standards have set upon me. I will not admit that I have done things wrong.  Some people spend all of their lives trying to be seen as important, to gain some power, and some have even been so naive to convince themselves that they are smarter than others because they have looked up a few facts or have more money. I get it, everyone could "paint by numbers" and the result is this beautiful copied image of something that was created long before you hid it behind colors.  If I can compare my life to paint by numbers, then I suppose I ran out of paint a long time ago. The war I waged against myself was just that.  Fighting against false image.

I once played house, as a young adult.  Houses can look perfect and be quietly filled with rage. I have never hated an image more. To be young and not in love, waiting to be saved.  I caught this part of my life so simply, like going fishing, and pulling out a boot. Except the bait was my vagina and I pulled out a husband. This is when my battle started, I was convinced that I was destine to end up something more than someone's wife. My goal was never to have dinner on the table at six, I have never been obedient. I was hiding behind blonde hair and a tainted diamond. Being tucked behind this image was far harder than waging war.

I could find acceptance again with lack of effort, if I wanted I could find a nice image of a man, with a means of financial support, spend my days playing house, give my vagina a lovely little home. I could scrub the toilet and condemn everyone living with less than what I have. Pretend to be too busy to be myself, take the accomplishments of my spouse as my own, and find acceptance in those who once saw me as this poor little jaded single mother of two. Instead, I wage a war. A beautiful, quiet, sometimes messy war.

These wars, the most dangerous ones, reflect how we respond to the lives of others. Somewhere in time, character of a man was bound silently to how much money he makes. In my time I have seen many, and some of the poorest men have had the most character of all.  I can not condemn the desperate lonely girl who has turned to the government for help, or the man living on the street spending his money on booze instead of food...I do not know what wars these people have waged upon themselves.  Some people have taken on battles that ruin them, that consume them so much, that they just can't bare to lead lives outside of that. I was once that little girl, so tired of fighting that I could not think outside of myself.  Consumed, and consumption in excess can lead to trying to drown yourself in the bathtub.  And lets face it, no one looks pretty bloated and dead. I found strength to fight in the faces of my children, but not everyone has a reason to fight. Some people have dinner on the table every night at six and quiet houses filled with rage.  People go fishing and catch all kinds of things.


It is my constant battle that keeps me honest to what I am on this planet, what I can be to others around me.  In this dangerous war I am reminded that poorness is not a matter of material possessions, it is a lack of morality and character. Not all beautiful pictures are paint by number. Society has the power to do many things, it can set standards and sell wars, but remember that it can also leave you bloated and dead in the bath tub. So, I wage wars every day.