"Our Trials and Hardships Make Us Stronger."

This was the title of his essay,

a literary critique

of another essay, and I think

he borrowed the title because

he seemed to disagree with the author.

They all found meaning in it.

I don't think they really looked

beyond the first line.

He was saying, "that's bullshit,

our trials and hardships weaken us

and fill us with doubt."

In a way, he was right,

and in a way he was wrong.

Gladly, he never had to suffer much,

so he wasn't speaking from experience.

We were the ones who suffered.

But he was a feeling kind of person.

He cared, so he was vulnerable.

There were times the world hurt him.

At any rate I'm waiting to find out

which is true: strength or weakness?

Cause see I'm waiting for that

"Superhuman Power"

that's supposed to come from tragedy,

and all that's really surfaced is

some arrogance, some bitterness,

a giant loss of faith and

this strange, unhappy peace

(i feel like half a person

drifting across the floor on

automatic pilot).

That's not to say I'm in pain

not so much anymore as an ache,

like an old injury

that flares up every now and then.

I recognize the folly of it,

so I dont' dwell, I don't wallow,

I try to stand tall and look forward.

Still, I couldn't really tell you

that I'm stronger,

only that I've learned the truth:

I'm pretty much indestructible,

but that doesn't mean

I can't be maimed.