in the ever wise words of maya angelou,
“Words are things. You must be careful, careful about calling people out of their names, using racial pejoratives and sexual pejoratives and all that ignorance. Don’t do that. Some day we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you.”
and my goodness he was ignorant. my goodness he was callous. my goodness he was prejudice and thoughtless and hurtful with his words.he called her a prostitute.
he called her crazy.
he called her insane.
he called her a whore.
he called her fucked up.
he called her a mistake.
he said he pretended she was something that she wasn't.
he said the brightest lights have the darkest shadows.
he said the death of her beloved dog was her fault.
he tried everything to hurt her with his words. over and over and over again.
the worst part about it is two fold: (1) that she stayed around and kept taking it, like the masochist she once was and (2) that none of it can ever, ever be unsaid.
his words have slowly, slowly fallen into her.
