Big Arms

I'm weak. It isn't great. I hate it, in fact. I'd like to say that I walk through the world without noticing it, but it just isn't true. I'm weak. Weak as they come. They probably would have eaten me, in times gone by.

I don't know there's much I can do about it. Oh, I could go to the gym. I could make my arms big, and my legs strong, and my chest burst out of my shirts. But underneath, I know it, the weakness would still be there.

I sometimes wonder, what makes one weak like I am. Some people get angry. Other people break down. It's just a thing. Maybe if I had been brought up differently. Or if I had tried different things. But all this is just excuses.

So what's the conclusion? Nothing. Nothing at all. There is no conclusion. I've not resolved to do anything to change who I am, I wouldn't know where to start. I'm just going to stay like this. Until something happens. But I doubt it will.