/weakling/
words like bullets
shooting from their dormancy
within the fire hot chamber
/weakling, weakling,
weakling/
something inside
icy hot and bursting
today the world is your
battleground and you are
the bullet
in the chamber
there is a weakling living inside of me but she is strengthening by the day. i encourage her. i use to ignore her existence but this lack of attention only proved to weaken her all the more. i see her know and i let her know this is so. my acknowledgement was the start of her strength.
The wealking had fragile bones. His hands and feet did not just seem to move. His enemies seemed to rush at him like a pack of wildebeasts.
Austin Belzer
[“weak”] they called me. A cruel smile tugged at my lips as I watched them all
cower
scream
run
I casually flipped over a desk to reveal the diminished jock cowering beneath it.
“Hey Tim”
He looked up at me, terrified. Words, screams, pleas, froozen by red hot terror. I leaned down until our faces were right next to each other. “Something wrong, Tim?” Still, he said nothing I breathed gently on his face. He flinched and whimpered, and a smile twisted my face. “Remember you used to do that, Tim? But your breath didn’t smell so good. Not minty, like mine.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. Sweat was beading on his forehead like dew collecting on a shuddering leaf. “But you taught me a lot of things, didn’t you, Tim? Remember our little lessons in the supply closet? After school? With the doors locked and the lights shut and no one to hear me crying, or your grunting? Remember how you used to breathe your filthy words on my face, Tim?” Now he met my eyes, diamonds shining inside his dull granite irises. “Remember your favourite word Tim? Remember calling me [weakling]? Because that became my name, Tim. Not Jackson. [Weakling]. Because you liked that name better.” Cold, lifeless words formed on his tongue, and one crept out of his mouth and froze on his lips. /please/. I but my lips near his ears and whispered.
“I remember, Tim.”
“You are a weakling!” My mentor screamed at me, her black hair rising around her head in a deathly halo. “You do not fail, you NEVER fail! You are an evil fae, and WE. DO. NOT. FAIL!”
I stared back at her, defiant. What I had done was right.
I already tried this once and I got this word and now Ive started over and gotten the same word. The idea is cool but the planning appears to have been [weak]
Sebastian
Weak they called me. A cruel smile tugged at my lips as I watched them run scream and cower. Who’s weak now? I casually flipped over a desk to reveal the reduced jock quivering beneath it. “Hey Tim” I said. He said nothing, as terror had stolen his voice. I leaned down so I was very close to his face and breathed my minty breath on him. “Remember when you did that to me, Tim?” Still he said nothing. “Your breath didn’t smell so good though, Tim.” He wimpered, and I smiled. “Remember our classes, Tim? Remember when you used to teach me in the gym room, after school when no one could hear me crying? Remember raping me Tim?” Tears sparkled in his dull eyes. I licked his nose, and he flinched horribly. I laughed again. I whispered in his ear.
“I remember, Tim.”
Sebastian
I look at the bottles
Back to my face
Back to the bottles.
Reach for the bottles and pour those small blue capsules into my hands.
I have fallen under
I am weak
I can’t give it up
Drugs: my savior.
Cait
He was shoved against a locker, all because of who he loved. He had just watched as his boyfriend was hurt, hurt to the point of bleeding and laying on the ground moaning, unable to move. And now he himself was being hurt as well. Despite that he had been unable to protect his love, and despite that he is now unable to protect himself, he does not think that he is the weakling here; it is those who cannot accept him in their hearts all because he loves another man.
she was tiny a little bird, fragile and caring. weak from the hands of nature. could she fly? no, her wings wer broken, she was broken. there was no use of trying but curiousity overtook her. lifting herself from the nest she reached the branch.
Joana
How small you may be, how innocent you may seem, well stop judging me. You, me, we’re all lost in our own ways, pretending that we understand what this is. It is a startled word, hoping to get its voice out when everyone tells it that it can’t.
Erica
Don’t be a weakling! Be a manly man! Break bricks! Chew on marble! Turn gristle into wussy pudding in your mouth. Punch panthers! Punch cows! Punch anything with more than one horn on its head. Because, hey, rhinoceros can be mean motherfuckers, and you don’t want to piss off the fat doppelganger of the unicorn. Here at Testosteriffic, we encourage you to cater to outlandish stereotypes!
Belinda Roddie
“He wouldn’t even fight us, you know.” He smirked when the phoenix stopped struggling against his bonds. He heard the breath catch in his throat. “Your friend, I mean. He hid from us. Behind his illusions, under your bed. Like a kid. Like a /weakling.”/ He could see the tension in the old man’s jaw and the quiver in his hands. He bent so that his eyes were level with his captive’s. “When I shoved that wooden stake through his beating heart you should’ve heard him /scream.”/
That’s what they called me, and what I believed. And to fix it was to be weaker – you can’t admit your faults! I couldn’t allow imperfection. So I pushed myself harder, and harder, and harder, and I still couldn’t be better than everyone at once. I began to hate my perfect friends.
I’m trying to be better than I was, I’m trying every day. To not let sounds sap strength from each vertebrae. Like laughter in my peripherals, or words that turn me into a newborn weakling just looking for some comfort.
you are a weakling for looking at the moon, for staring at the sun though it hurts, for thinking that he is looking at you, fixing his hair, pulling at his shirt because he cares that you are looking. but that is alright. you are a weakling for life, for experience, you know no walls around your heart, it breathes fresh air, and everything that touches your heart reaches a nerve and travels all over your body. you are a weakling because you do not fight with life. there is nothing wrong with weakness. you are aware, you are observant, you are the senses alive and well. do not be strong. do not defend your heart from knowing. how would you feel to always be wearing a suit of armor. they are ugly and heavy and rusty. wouldn’t you rather run through the world a soft and naked weakling? full of feeling. life is a feeling.
Erin
radius over ulna
touching
crossing
ever so slightly
percussing, moving
rubbing
inflaming
weakling
Sarah
To be a weakling indicates a lack of ability to deal with the challenges at hand. But there are two types of weakness — that which comes from sheer lack, and that which comes because one is unwilling, has stuck one’s head in the sand, refuses to acknowledge that the time has come to be strong and do hard things.
every attempt that she had make to get his attention had been in vain because it was clear he wasn’t listening. she scoffed and slouched over some in her chair, looking across at him. she frowned. it wasn’t her fault he wasn’t listening, that he was being immature, that she couldn’t get the message across to him that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a fucking weakling, that he needed to get over himself. the fact that he wasn’t listening is what made him weak, the conscious attempt at blocking out the reality of the situation. she scoffed again and stood up, leaving the room. if he wasn’t going to listen, she wasn’t going to bother.
I feel so weak whenever a tear forms on my left eye, because I know everyone can see. Everyone from my mother to that nice guy behind the counter at Krispy Kreme who then gives me a free doughnut. And when I cry I know I have to explain it. But I can’t. I don’t do feelings. I will explain thoughts – but feelings are in Russian.
babs
“Weakling. Get up.”
Astor chuckled, wiping the blood from his lip; if his opponent would only stop to look, he’d notice that it was already healed.
I was going to think of some biting comeback but then I took a shot to the ego, so never mind.
Suffering, frowning, thought to be worthless, wants to be what the world wants to see, needs.
Kelsy lewin
He’s a weakling.
A one pound nothing little ball of drool and fluff.
A suckling, sniffling, yelping, chewing useless wretch.
A pissing, vomiting, shitting, biting little bugger.
And I love him.
THATS WHAT YOU ARE YOU COWARD
I cant handle weaklings I feel like theyll break at any second
A weakling is boring, never been broken but never been hit
A weakling is worthless someone who has never been tested
I used to be one.
i am a weakling, i suffer with depression but i am too afraid to tell anybody, except my boyfriend who i tell it is just down to the contraceptive i use. i feel so weak. all. the. time
Hope
i have no idea what this word means.
it has something to do with weaks.
sounds like a “baby weak”.
like duck and duckling.
weak and weakling.
i have no idea.
anhelina
He paused for a moment to catch his breath.
An ordinary teenager. Small. Quiet. Not many friends. Picked on, yeah, but not too much. Liked to read comic books and play video games. Same as everyone. He knew what they’d say when it was over. It didn’t matter. It was too late.
he was small, tiny, creepy little spindle arms that jutted out of his sides like tree-branches, I didn’t like him, nobody did, because he didn’t have a giant personality behind that tiny frame, he was walked on and allowed himself to be. IT was enough to make you pity him, until he turned on you in exchange for some better friends.
Eoghan
we’re in your car and the music is blaring and you turn to me and laugh and your face is a shade of traffic light red and youre so beautiful so beautiful so beautiful and im so weak so weak so weak and i’m so tired so tired so tired of feeling like this
Ouch. Who wants to be called a weakling? People who don’t have backbones are weaklings. People who are too scared to stand up for their friends are weaklings. Weak. They are soon forgotten.
stories:
they can make or break, hurt or help
they can put one at a great advantage, or tremendous disadvantage
whether a superhero, or a weakling,
no one knows the pain,
the joy,
the sorrow,
the gladness
behind who one has become
backstories:
they can make, or break
hurt, or help
whether you’re a weakling, or a superhero
no one knows YOU
no one knows the struggles
the pain
the joy
the sorrow
of you
Weakling? Weakling!? He would show this impertinent child who was a weakling. As he marched to the center of the tourney ring his fury rose like a flame on dry wood.
He struggled to pick up the large axe. Sweat dripped off his nose as he swung it over his head. The head of the axe went in a measly inch. He struggled to pull it out. His small muscles skipping in his arm.
Nicola Pike
weak, pitiful, he sits in the dirt
wishing, hoping to see the light
always gnashing his teeth at the truth
Tom Wallis
What one does
Is not what one is
Who one is
Is not who one should be
Where one goes
Does no define who one will be
But who one chooses to be
Can still never be decided
by what one has done.
Becoming a weakling takes no skill. For weakness is a curse that is bestowed upon a being on the day they are born. Strength is the ability to kill that humiliation.
Weaklings are the ones who refuse to continue. Weakness is refusal to challenge one’s self. Whether weak or strong, how do you fight your way to a higher purpose? How do you give life meaning without strength? Why do you persist if you have no goals?
/weakling/
words like bullets
shooting from their dormancy
within the fire hot chamber
/weakling, weakling,
weakling/
something inside
icy hot and bursting
today the world is your
battleground and you are
the bullet
in the chamber
there is a weakling living inside of me but she is strengthening by the day. i encourage her. i use to ignore her existence but this lack of attention only proved to weaken her all the more. i see her know and i let her know this is so. my acknowledgement was the start of her strength.
The wealking had fragile bones. His hands and feet did not just seem to move. His enemies seemed to rush at him like a pack of wildebeasts.
[“weak”] they called me. A cruel smile tugged at my lips as I watched them all
cower
scream
run
I casually flipped over a desk to reveal the diminished jock cowering beneath it.
“Hey Tim”
He looked up at me, terrified. Words, screams, pleas, froozen by red hot terror. I leaned down until our faces were right next to each other. “Something wrong, Tim?” Still, he said nothing I breathed gently on his face. He flinched and whimpered, and a smile twisted my face. “Remember you used to do that, Tim? But your breath didn’t smell so good. Not minty, like mine.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. Sweat was beading on his forehead like dew collecting on a shuddering leaf. “But you taught me a lot of things, didn’t you, Tim? Remember our little lessons in the supply closet? After school? With the doors locked and the lights shut and no one to hear me crying, or your grunting? Remember how you used to breathe your filthy words on my face, Tim?” Now he met my eyes, diamonds shining inside his dull granite irises. “Remember your favourite word Tim? Remember calling me [weakling]? Because that became my name, Tim. Not Jackson. [Weakling]. Because you liked that name better.” Cold, lifeless words formed on his tongue, and one crept out of his mouth and froze on his lips. /please/. I but my lips near his ears and whispered.
“I remember, Tim.”
“You are a weakling!” My mentor screamed at me, her black hair rising around her head in a deathly halo. “You do not fail, you NEVER fail! You are an evil fae, and WE. DO. NOT. FAIL!”
I stared back at her, defiant. What I had done was right.
ok
I already tried this once and I got this word and now Ive started over and gotten the same word. The idea is cool but the planning appears to have been [weak]
Weak they called me. A cruel smile tugged at my lips as I watched them run scream and cower. Who’s weak now? I casually flipped over a desk to reveal the reduced jock quivering beneath it. “Hey Tim” I said. He said nothing, as terror had stolen his voice. I leaned down so I was very close to his face and breathed my minty breath on him. “Remember when you did that to me, Tim?” Still he said nothing. “Your breath didn’t smell so good though, Tim.” He wimpered, and I smiled. “Remember our classes, Tim? Remember when you used to teach me in the gym room, after school when no one could hear me crying? Remember raping me Tim?” Tears sparkled in his dull eyes. I licked his nose, and he flinched horribly. I laughed again. I whispered in his ear.
“I remember, Tim.”
I look at the bottles
Back to my face
Back to the bottles.
Reach for the bottles and pour those small blue capsules into my hands.
I have fallen under
I am weak
I can’t give it up
Drugs: my savior.
He was shoved against a locker, all because of who he loved. He had just watched as his boyfriend was hurt, hurt to the point of bleeding and laying on the ground moaning, unable to move. And now he himself was being hurt as well. Despite that he had been unable to protect his love, and despite that he is now unable to protect himself, he does not think that he is the weakling here; it is those who cannot accept him in their hearts all because he loves another man.
she was tiny a little bird, fragile and caring. weak from the hands of nature. could she fly? no, her wings wer broken, she was broken. there was no use of trying but curiousity overtook her. lifting herself from the nest she reached the branch.
How small you may be, how innocent you may seem, well stop judging me. You, me, we’re all lost in our own ways, pretending that we understand what this is. It is a startled word, hoping to get its voice out when everyone tells it that it can’t.
Don’t be a weakling! Be a manly man! Break bricks! Chew on marble! Turn gristle into wussy pudding in your mouth. Punch panthers! Punch cows! Punch anything with more than one horn on its head. Because, hey, rhinoceros can be mean motherfuckers, and you don’t want to piss off the fat doppelganger of the unicorn. Here at Testosteriffic, we encourage you to cater to outlandish stereotypes!
“He wouldn’t even fight us, you know.” He smirked when the phoenix stopped struggling against his bonds. He heard the breath catch in his throat. “Your friend, I mean. He hid from us. Behind his illusions, under your bed. Like a kid. Like a /weakling.”/ He could see the tension in the old man’s jaw and the quiver in his hands. He bent so that his eyes were level with his captive’s. “When I shoved that wooden stake through his beating heart you should’ve heard him /scream.”/
That’s what they called me, and what I believed. And to fix it was to be weaker – you can’t admit your faults! I couldn’t allow imperfection. So I pushed myself harder, and harder, and harder, and I still couldn’t be better than everyone at once. I began to hate my perfect friends.
I’m trying to be better than I was, I’m trying every day. To not let sounds sap strength from each vertebrae. Like laughter in my peripherals, or words that turn me into a newborn weakling just looking for some comfort.
you are a weakling for looking at the moon, for staring at the sun though it hurts, for thinking that he is looking at you, fixing his hair, pulling at his shirt because he cares that you are looking. but that is alright. you are a weakling for life, for experience, you know no walls around your heart, it breathes fresh air, and everything that touches your heart reaches a nerve and travels all over your body. you are a weakling because you do not fight with life. there is nothing wrong with weakness. you are aware, you are observant, you are the senses alive and well. do not be strong. do not defend your heart from knowing. how would you feel to always be wearing a suit of armor. they are ugly and heavy and rusty. wouldn’t you rather run through the world a soft and naked weakling? full of feeling. life is a feeling.
radius over ulna
touching
crossing
ever so slightly
percussing, moving
rubbing
inflaming
weakling
To be a weakling indicates a lack of ability to deal with the challenges at hand. But there are two types of weakness — that which comes from sheer lack, and that which comes because one is unwilling, has stuck one’s head in the sand, refuses to acknowledge that the time has come to be strong and do hard things.
she was the youngest,
ears peeking out from the curtain
of her thin, blonde hair.
we carried her on shoulders
so she could scream the loudest.
every attempt that she had make to get his attention had been in vain because it was clear he wasn’t listening. she scoffed and slouched over some in her chair, looking across at him. she frowned. it wasn’t her fault he wasn’t listening, that he was being immature, that she couldn’t get the message across to him that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a fucking weakling, that he needed to get over himself. the fact that he wasn’t listening is what made him weak, the conscious attempt at blocking out the reality of the situation. she scoffed again and stood up, leaving the room. if he wasn’t going to listen, she wasn’t going to bother.
I feel so weak whenever a tear forms on my left eye, because I know everyone can see. Everyone from my mother to that nice guy behind the counter at Krispy Kreme who then gives me a free doughnut. And when I cry I know I have to explain it. But I can’t. I don’t do feelings. I will explain thoughts – but feelings are in Russian.
“Weakling. Get up.”
Astor chuckled, wiping the blood from his lip; if his opponent would only stop to look, he’d notice that it was already healed.
I was going to think of some biting comeback but then I took a shot to the ego, so never mind.
Suffering, frowning, thought to be worthless, wants to be what the world wants to see, needs.
He’s a weakling.
A one pound nothing little ball of drool and fluff.
A suckling, sniffling, yelping, chewing useless wretch.
A pissing, vomiting, shitting, biting little bugger.
And I love him.
THATS WHAT YOU ARE YOU COWARD
I cant handle weaklings I feel like theyll break at any second
A weakling is boring, never been broken but never been hit
A weakling is worthless someone who has never been tested
I used to be one.
i am a weakling, i suffer with depression but i am too afraid to tell anybody, except my boyfriend who i tell it is just down to the contraceptive i use. i feel so weak. all. the. time
i have no idea what this word means.
it has something to do with weaks.
sounds like a “baby weak”.
like duck and duckling.
weak and weakling.
i have no idea.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath.
An ordinary teenager. Small. Quiet. Not many friends. Picked on, yeah, but not too much. Liked to read comic books and play video games. Same as everyone. He knew what they’d say when it was over. It didn’t matter. It was too late.
he was small, tiny, creepy little spindle arms that jutted out of his sides like tree-branches, I didn’t like him, nobody did, because he didn’t have a giant personality behind that tiny frame, he was walked on and allowed himself to be. IT was enough to make you pity him, until he turned on you in exchange for some better friends.
we’re in your car and the music is blaring and you turn to me and laugh and your face is a shade of traffic light red and youre so beautiful so beautiful so beautiful and im so weak so weak so weak and i’m so tired so tired so tired of feeling like this
Ouch. Who wants to be called a weakling? People who don’t have backbones are weaklings. People who are too scared to stand up for their friends are weaklings. Weak. They are soon forgotten.
stories:
they can make or break, hurt or help
they can put one at a great advantage, or tremendous disadvantage
whether a superhero, or a weakling,
no one knows the pain,
the joy,
the sorrow,
the gladness
behind who one has become
backstories:
they can make, or break
hurt, or help
whether you’re a weakling, or a superhero
no one knows YOU
no one knows the struggles
the pain
the joy
the sorrow
of you
Weakling? Weakling!? He would show this impertinent child who was a weakling. As he marched to the center of the tourney ring his fury rose like a flame on dry wood.
He struggled to pick up the large axe. Sweat dripped off his nose as he swung it over his head. The head of the axe went in a measly inch. He struggled to pull it out. His small muscles skipping in his arm.
weak, pitiful, he sits in the dirt
wishing, hoping to see the light
always gnashing his teeth at the truth
What one does
Is not what one is
Who one is
Is not who one should be
Where one goes
Does no define who one will be
But who one chooses to be
Can still never be decided
by what one has done.
Becoming a weakling takes no skill. For weakness is a curse that is bestowed upon a being on the day they are born. Strength is the ability to kill that humiliation.
Weaklings are the ones who refuse to continue. Weakness is refusal to challenge one’s self. Whether weak or strong, how do you fight your way to a higher purpose? How do you give life meaning without strength? Why do you persist if you have no goals?