Being brave is important. But many people mistake bravery for what it really is. I remember being 8 years old, and staying up all night because we thought my grandfather in India had died. I bit my lip, and I gritted my teeth and sat with my mom, holding her hand, praying to god that everything would turn out okay. It was supposed to turn out okay. But it didn't. But I was brave. I remember hearing the sirens in our neighborhood and thinking, praying that it was nothing. It was supposed to be nothing. But my friends father shot himself in the head in front of his wife and older son. My friend ran down the stairs, tried to give him cpr, hoping that he would make it. He didn't. But he was brave. Even when he sent us a picture of the bullet hole in the wall. The point is that everyone is brave. Even in their most fragile state, when their mind is an arduous maze of emotions. Even when you are so frightened you tremble with anxiety.
Bravery is not the absence of fear. Bravery is when fear is potent but you push through anyway.
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Oleander-COMPLETED
PoetryALL RIGHTS RESERVED Her words were like oleander flowers, so delicate, like a gossamer spider string, but poisonous, like her scarred, despondent heart. *in other words, my crap poetry that is still really important to me*
