She was young, when they came in the middle of the night. The captors like villains in a fairytale, overwhelmingly one dimensional.

Her captors were Fate and Destiny. Fate was deadpan, zero sense of humor. Seriously, the girl was a bit of a bore. Destiny on the other hand, was the most handsome woman she'd ever laid eyes on.

With a grand flourish, Destiny pulled back the curtains of her old life and let her glance from afar at a new world of possibilities. Destiny told her it could all become reality, if she was willing to pay the price.

Fate on the other hand was more practical. She sat her down and gave her a pragmatic view of what was to come of the future.

The dullness, the suffocating sense of safety, the lack of fulfillment, the inevitable slow death. Fate was honest...and she could respect that.

But Destiny, oh so tempting, continued on. She painted a picture of ambition, true love, fascinating people, happy memories, and a peaceful end to a truly magnificent life.

Destiny reminded her of someone she knew. A girl she forgot long ago when she decided that looking in the mirror proved too difficult to bare.

Destiny smelled of the future while Fate reeked of home.

So, Destiny asked, are you willing to pay the price? To give up everything you know, everyone you think you love, all to take a chance with me?

Did she realize what she was asking? The levity of the question at hand? What would people say? That she'd run off in the middle of the night in search of the stars? That she'd died searching for a life that didn't exist.

Destiny paused...time's running out my dear.....make a choice.

Fate implored her to reconsider, a life lived in the shadows was still a life lived. A life in mourning of a future you'll never have was still a life of stability.

The girl turned, shook her head at her captors, and ran past them leaping straight into the depths of the darkness.

With a thunderous cry, she realized that she had flown straight past the stars, away from her captors, away from Fate and Destiny. Determined to make her own choices.

Because there's no way in hell she'd allow her story to be prewritten by one dimensional, delusional, villains.

She not only shattered the glass ceiling, she killed her captors with the glass.

The little shards left from the explosion expertly found their way into the hearts of every founding member of the patriarchy.

To every founding member that ever dared to doubt her.

The glass shuddered against her bare feet, cowering at her power. Her invincibility finally replacing her invisibility.

There she was in all her glory, present at all the board meeting, head CEO in a field where women where secretaries and mothers. There she was, finally on her own. If we didn't count the few dead bodies in the room.

"Brutal"...she thought. That life had forced a seemingly sweet woman to shed her "natural" loving instructs in lieu of such violence.

Little did they understand, she'd never known love in the first place.

There's an age old story. A tale as old as time.
A feeling I can't quite muster, a voice that's not quite mine.

I've grown a lot this year, felt a lot this year, slept a lot this year, ****** a lot this year. Needless to say....it's been one hell of a 365 days.

This poem is a  stray from tradition, it lacks rhythm, flow, but ******* it it's written of my own volition.

I've earned that right, finally making my voice heard, learning how to fight. I've lost a battle or two, don't get me wrong.

But I still raise my head, every round for the gong. I get back up, throwing punches until I see stars.

Fighting with mad love and ambition, even if it kills my heart.

What's more important? A sane mind or a sense of place? What's scarier? Losing yourself or fighting demons you can't face?

There's a lack of attention that consumes my thoughts. There's feelings of self hatred, despite finally being on top.

That's the funny thing about thinking you've made it. The only person you have to best is yourself. The only person you have to let down, is every single person you've every helped.

That's the fear for me. Never finding happiness. Enough never really being enough.

Time being an illusion that slips away and before I know it, my legacy is just a disillusion.

I've had this dream on repeat. I'm lying in a casket, looking ghastly in defeat. Death and I have become one, finally giving that ever so cherished encore to a dance we've swung too many times before.

It's lonely here in the dark. Colder than I thought. Sweeter than I imagined.

Peaceful....yeah, peaceful.

Help! Someone hand me a knife. Help me cut away the binds holding me hostage by parody and strife.

I'm bound, leather cuts against my skin, the pages filled with word counts wreck my mind from within.

You see what started as a hobby ballooned into a full time obligation, with deadlines, dollar signs,  and a **** ton of manipulation.

I'm restless but full of rest, like Gatsby within and without, I'm bored of doing the same thing all day but never gaining any clout.

There's a system in my mind that tries to comprehend this restless feeling I feel will never end.

So I'm resounded to spewing my words online, the only place that welcomes the madness of my mind.

If you happen upon this jumbled mess, please send me a message and beg me to get some rest.

Until then, I'll be your green light on the dock, your key fitting every lock, your master of words and prose, your knight in shining armor fending off your foes.

I'll be here.

Living vicariously through you, hoping one day again, I'll find myself too.

Thank you! Truly...it's such an honor to be here today and accept this award for most angry person.

Truly! It's an honor. I mean...I have sooo many people to thank.

Let's start with my mom. God...thank you for the childhood trauma. I mean forcing me to raise myself since I was like 7....stellar! Great stuff!

My dad! Thank you sooo much for your Bipolar genes and your tendency to throw money at your problems. Outstanding!

My fellow award winners. I look upon you with such esteem. To think...I accepted nominations for so many other categories! Least trustworthy, most codependent, and ah my favorite...lack of empathy!

Ah, such a great crowd this year! I wanna thank each and everyone one of you for coming out and supporting my demise. An end of era is upon us...please, join in the madness.

This is the death of ambition.

Gather round' come on! Let's mourn our past together. Let's mourn what we could've been. Just for a little while.

I was 14, I was naive...and the worst part, was that I was in love.

I was ambitious...and that's a dangerous feeling for a 14 year old girl who would move mountains for someone she just met on the internet.

There's this thing that all the movies about young love just don't seem to get....I mean, why I haven't I seen any movies about two teenage girls falling in love, moving across the country, going to college and having a quarter life crisis together?

I mean...that might be a niche audience.

So the scary thing about the death of ambition, is that it dies slowly. Overtime...months and years turn into decades wasted. Unhappiness, contentment.

That's word's always scared me...content.

It defines a time when you stop trying. I don't know what I'm more afraid of...being content...or never...ever feeling that way.

So, this is the death of ambition. Slowly, crawling it's way to your core. Suffocating. Deadly.

A hungry gaze, dissipated haze. From across the room his hunger stays.

Tears glisten yet no one listens. Madness and depression her brain descends.

Yet she has no choice...she's one of the boys. Get a doctorate, make something of yourself, stop playing with your broken toys...either way you'll be damed to hell..

She lied, they say. Made it all up, they say. He cries his reputation is ruined, I mean he never laid a hand on you anyway...Haven't you ever done something stupid when you're drunk?

Appointed to the highest hall, I guess some people are untouchable after all...

Ah...what it is to be white and male in America..

Land of the free so long as you've paid the fee,
SIT DOWN....Don't you know girls are to be seen not heard?

So, the first time she speaks her mind, the scales of justice pull her taught from behind, all too similar to the predicament she'd find herself in...all those nights ago....

This is the story of a woman who lost it all, trying to save us from the infamous Kavanaugh.

I wonder how many Bretts do you know? How many more have we yet to meet?