derivative

as i flail about my life, six arms swinging, swaying, mesmerizing, i find that i do alot of battle. i'm not sure if this is common in other people's lives or peculiar to mine. the many wars of suzanne rae deshchidn, or something like.

and yesterday, before it got real bad, i went by my store and found the place had rallied around me, and championed me to the boss who found out how i was hounded last week.

she called me an asshole (which was a lie)

and my boss said,

so were you?

which i found funny, particularly if it were true. but even in untruth still amuses me.

i rise to champion those who need me whenever i can. in whatever way i can. it is what we do for each other. part of the calling, i guess. you don't befriend a six armed woman unless you need someone to cover your back.

i don't care about everyone,

i told her.

just a few people. the rest of them can go fuck themselves.

this is how i see it. i can only rally for my clan. those who stumble into my inner circle. those who find their way into my heart.

but i'm tired of fighting. i need a break. yet, am not sure if it's how i'm wired. does the warrior get a break? is he not ever defending against intrusion?

who am i to think this is my role.

i feel brave around her,

i said.

i wonder if my power is derivative.

that is the question i ponder. i do need people. not masses of faceless throngs, but the few, the ones i love, who love me as they can. those people keep me alive. make my stay on this planet interesting, to say the least.

i am not easy to be around, i understand this. particularly since i'm always ready to strike. to defend.

but then, there are those who hear me cooing in my sheets. who find the quiet gentle arms (there are a couple), and manage to get in close enough that the other four don't take them out.

my power then, is not derivative. it is, simply, mine.