The Cancer Confession: Read at your own risk
They say we’re dangerous because we’re loud.
We’re not loud.
We just don’t care who hears us anymore.
Some people find peace in silence.
Others try to silence us.
And sure, we might obey…
But not before we nip you with a claw and a side-eye sharp enough to cause internal bleeding.
They say we’re dangerous because we’re deep.
As if we had a choice.
Try being born with a mind that can
watch a movie,
plan a spiritual rebirth,
and craft an emotionally loaded ten-step revenge fantasy
all while pretending to be fine at dinner.
Our pain is silent.
We won’t speak of it.
We’ll stew in it, let it swirl around our hearts, our bones, our bloodstream.
We let it brew, add a pinch of some ancestral trauma, a drop of betrayal, a dash of fury, and a shot of chaos for good measure.
Then we serve it cold on a plate called
Emotional Retaliation à la Mode.
But when we love, it’s not a hobby.
It’s a cosmic contract.
We’ll draw you into the soul-deep warmth of us,
build you a kingdom made of safety, loyalty, and aggressively nurtured affection.
We are the Yin and the Yang of the Zodiac.
We can love and hate you at the same time.
And we’ll do it with such passion that you’ll never be sure whether to kiss us or run.
They say we won’t destroy you when you hurt us.
I beg to differ.
If the pain overrides logic, the warmth shuts off.
The light dims.
And that love? It inverts.
Suddenly, I’m not nurturing you. I’m haunting you.
Mentally. Emotionally. Possibly even accidentally physically.
Oops. Sorry about the vase.
So here’s the fine print:
Love us right.
Reciprocate.
And never, ever betray us.
Because we don’t want to be your villain.
But if we become one, you wrote the origin story.
