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there's this trend on tiktok, a quiz you take to see which role you fit in the song "soldier, poet, king" by the oh hellos. i expected nothing. i came out of it a soldier.
the description of it kinda hurt me.
"Righteousness. Strength. Violence. You see a door and break through it. You wonder, sometimes, if anger is the only thing you can feel. Remember : love is passion too. You made your own rules and will follow them to death. You try and forget that there is only one rule, and that it is "FIGHT". You are tired of fighting. You try to forget that, too, and keep going. You dream of quiet. Your love is where you heal. God knows you deserve to. (Really. You deserve to.)"
it really resonated, and i wish it hadn't. because the soldier doesnt heal or lead. the soldier fights. the soldier is born to fight. i hate fighting. but it's all i do. fight to survive. fight for justice. fight to defend. fight, just to fight, because i dont realize i'm fighting.
"remember: love is passion too." passion. i am afraid of passion. being passionate means losing sight. it means losing control. it means my feelings become big. it means i become big. it means i can hurt, if i extend my arms too far out. passion has made me both victim and victimizer. it has made me the villain in some stories. and i dont deal well with that.
i want to be a poet. to comfort people with words. to be softer, more delicate. to live life like a song. but i'm not a poet. im a soldier. i talk without thinking and i hurt people. i am neither soft or delicate, because where i once was, i grew thorns and sharp edges. i try to live life like a song, but i fail, because i never know when to stop. i never know how to stop.
i want to be useful. if there's one thing a soldier is, is useful. they serve kings. they protect. they fight for rightful causes. its why i thought i'd be a poet. i am not useful. i do not serve people. i try to protect, but i fail. i fight because i am selfish. but poets and artists are selfish. why am i not one of them? why was i cursed with wanting to protect?
i want someone to trust me. i want someone who will love my sharp edges. who will let me use my strength in their name. i want someone who will wipe the blood off of my face and say, "thats enough, my knight. you can rest" and have it be true, and who will lay with me and accept my clumsy hands and my tongue that stutters and hurts on accident.
but i am just a lonely soldier. with no one to protect. who will continue hurting others until he finds his charge.
... i did the quiz to distract myself from my research into bpd and the fact i probably have it. it clearly did not work. i'm gonna go play a videogame, or something. have a good night.
the description of it kinda hurt me.
"Righteousness. Strength. Violence. You see a door and break through it. You wonder, sometimes, if anger is the only thing you can feel. Remember : love is passion too. You made your own rules and will follow them to death. You try and forget that there is only one rule, and that it is "FIGHT". You are tired of fighting. You try to forget that, too, and keep going. You dream of quiet. Your love is where you heal. God knows you deserve to. (Really. You deserve to.)"
it really resonated, and i wish it hadn't. because the soldier doesnt heal or lead. the soldier fights. the soldier is born to fight. i hate fighting. but it's all i do. fight to survive. fight for justice. fight to defend. fight, just to fight, because i dont realize i'm fighting.
"remember: love is passion too." passion. i am afraid of passion. being passionate means losing sight. it means losing control. it means my feelings become big. it means i become big. it means i can hurt, if i extend my arms too far out. passion has made me both victim and victimizer. it has made me the villain in some stories. and i dont deal well with that.
i want to be a poet. to comfort people with words. to be softer, more delicate. to live life like a song. but i'm not a poet. im a soldier. i talk without thinking and i hurt people. i am neither soft or delicate, because where i once was, i grew thorns and sharp edges. i try to live life like a song, but i fail, because i never know when to stop. i never know how to stop.
i want to be useful. if there's one thing a soldier is, is useful. they serve kings. they protect. they fight for rightful causes. its why i thought i'd be a poet. i am not useful. i do not serve people. i try to protect, but i fail. i fight because i am selfish. but poets and artists are selfish. why am i not one of them? why was i cursed with wanting to protect?
i want someone to trust me. i want someone who will love my sharp edges. who will let me use my strength in their name. i want someone who will wipe the blood off of my face and say, "thats enough, my knight. you can rest" and have it be true, and who will lay with me and accept my clumsy hands and my tongue that stutters and hurts on accident.
but i am just a lonely soldier. with no one to protect. who will continue hurting others until he finds his charge.
... i did the quiz to distract myself from my research into bpd and the fact i probably have it. it clearly did not work. i'm gonna go play a videogame, or something. have a good night.
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