You may not know this
By looking at me,
My small frame,
And fragile looking face,
You may not notice
In the quiet of my stare
The fierceness lurking there.

You may not see what is
Right in front you
As the world has said
She is weak.
As woman, let’s ignore her
Lest she speak,
Let’s discredit her,
Lest she seek to rise,
Let’s demonize her,
Lest her soul shine,
Let’s keep her down,
She is woman,
She is weak.

So, yea
I got the box checked lady,
I wear delicate shoes and lace,
I have fancy clothes and makeup,
My heart goes a flutter
Near boys when they race.
I hated pink because they told me
It was only for me,
But secretly I love it,
Yes, even sparkly things.

So yea,
You might miss it
If you lack the eyes to see
What is truly resting on my chest
No, not those,
And yet…
There is power there too,
Isn’t there? The power to rear
The small, the innocent,
The precious and dear.

Yet, this is not what I am currently
Waxing poetic about.
It is my armor, invisible, yes I know.
It is my battle hardened body
My scars and my skin
That line the truth,
The understory,
Of where I’ve been.

You see I am warrior.
Oh? You don’t see it yet?
Where are my muscles?
Where are my weapons?
Where is my prowess in combat?

Yes, it’s true I might not win in a fight.
I may cower and when anxious
It is my fingernails I bite.
I may not triumph blood covered
In the most ruthless of rings.
I may not know very much
About those sort of things.

But do not doubt for one second
My warrior’s stare,
The determination, perseverance,
The dedication that’s there.
Because truly, I believe,
If you miss that you cannot see me.

I am a warrior
Many battles deep.
I kept fighting the war
When others had fled, well not me.
I kept holding up my chin
Even after collapse,
I kept fighting for my innocence
Even after it was spent.
I kept on keeping on
Even in the face of defeat.
I picked up my sword
And stood even after
I was made to bleed.

And yes, I can see there is no
Gaping wound. I am not truly
Wounded am I?
Well, can all scars be seen?
Can you tell me truly
Where my heart has been?

The shallows, the mires,
The darkness
That coils.
The unseen story,
The invisible trials,
The scene within
My most tender of frames,
After battle with demons
That sent Hercules to fame.
Yes a field, war torn, rests within
My delicate flesh.

It is my mind, my heart, my soul
Where the armor hides.
It is my strength to keep going
Desperate to survive.
It is my diligence
To keep going no matter
How great the desire to die.

It is this that caused
My haunted eyes to grow light.
It is this with which I still
Everyday go out and fight.
It is my spirit with which
I am inextricably tied,
That kept me going
Tired yes, but so deeply alive.

It’s true, even I,
Have battle shell shock,
Ptsd panic, and trembling hands,
I even sometimes have to rock.
Oh? But this, you think, that
Makes me weak?
Oh friend, you cannot know then,
Or comprehend.
There are battles invisible
That many of us fight.
There a victories
Even a shit eating grin.

You can’t possibly know
Where I’ve been.
The darkness that cloaks
My waking breath.

I am a warrior many battles deep.
I am a Phoenix, a seductress,
A vixen, a baby girl, a queen.
Oh? These things are
not the same?
I’ll just laugh and shake my head.
I pick up my lace, my armor
And keep my story for the pen.

I am a warrior
Just as all the women
Of my kind.
I am a warrior many battles deep.
What kind of secrets,
I wonder,
Does the world tell you to keep?

-Angel Marie Russell

Please consider donating to help me publish my book and for my health. ❤️


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