I used to wonder what people expected when they welcomed the words weird and strange into the English language. Did they expect words like freak, weirdo, and odd to come along as well? Were they aware of the power that they would hold? I wonder if they knew that these words would be thrown around like sharp daggers aimed straight towards people’s hearts, sending gears and knobs flying across both land and sea, forcing them on an endless journey to wind their hearts back up again.

These questions soon became my shadow. They climbed into bed with me every night. Sometimes I would wake up dazed and confused only to find them calling out for company as they too were afraid of the dark. And their appetite grew along with me, becoming larger as they began to feed on me more and more. I was at my very last breath when I decided that they had spent far too many nights up past their bedtime. So I let myself fall victim to my thoughts and fell deep down the rabbit hole. And it was in its web of dreams, ambitions, and philosophies that I discovered light.

The smiths were unaware of how lasting their creations would be when they forged their words out of hot iron and steel. Because a weapon is only as powerful as the one who wields it. And a wielder only as powerful as the weapon they wield. Goliath might have brought words like bizarre and creep into battle but have been slain when David unsheathed abomination. Therefore, the words odd and freak wouldn’t have cut so deep if people hadn’t been sharpening them up for so long.

And they did. They cut deep. I was forced to walk around with their scars on my wrists. They spelled out crazy, weird, strange, never failing to remind me that I was the outcast that made people lock their doors at night. I began to believe those scars were a weakness. A testament of how I fell to other people’s swords. How I allowed myself to be slain. How I never allowed myself to fight back. How could I when the only weapon I had was why? But when one blade cut too deep, and an eternity casted into darkness began to sound sweeter than the apple I stuffed my face with at tea time, I knew it was time I looked through the other side of the looking glass.

I started using excuse me and I've gotta go as a way of avoiding conflict. They proved useful for a while until my nemesis, freak, entered the battlefield. How powerful it was, with a blade sharp enough to send a girl home crying because no one ever told her twelve year olds couldn’t wear black lipstick. I never wanted those words to corrupt me like they had so many other rulers and Knights. I could never imagine holding them against anyone else, knowing the pain and torment their echoes could cause. And it was during my darkest hours, when I wanted nothing more but sleep, that I found the map that would lead to the vorpal sword I would use to slay my Jabberwocky. It was hidden behind a large wall of fiction wearing a tattered jacket over torn pages, advocating the many travels it's embarked on and the many people whose lives it’s visited. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

I had been lost and afraid and confused but alongside Alice, I too was able to make sense of the whimsical and extravagant world we'd both fallen into. At least, as much sense as we were able to. When we returned back to our world, we had both changed, no longer the same girl we were yesterday. We new adventures and thoughts to show off in our pockets. I began to view my scars not as a weakness, but wear them as an armor. Alice taught me that the only way to fight against the weapons of iron and steel was to employ a weapon of my own. Imagination.

Imagination was my vorpal sword. The strongest and most powerful weapon that could ever be wielded. But it would only be as powerful as I allowed it to be. So I gave in to its charm. Its seduction. Its power. In turn, it filled with my own power. Confidence and knowledge follwed suit. In this war, all blades were double edged and each word had a double meaning. Weird was different. Freak was unique. And I realized that I wanted to be different. I wanted to be as indistinguishable and valuable like the vorpal sword. The only one of its kind. In a midst of black and white, the red armor around my arms only stood out more. We forge words completely ignorant of the power they’ll hold until they’re polished by imagination. We ignore the dangers that lie when they’re wielded. But also fail to acknowledge the power that those who fall victim can have. It’s a simple solution, really. Wear weakness like an armor and if the sword is too heavy, learn how to hold it with both hands. Because if there's anything I learned from my time in Wonderland, it's that all I was never crazy, "my reality is just different from yours". But even if I was, it doesn't matter because "all the best people are".