The battle over poetry
The soldiers fight
their words, their weapons.
The historic battlegrounds dedicated in honorable memorials,
studied in English classrooms everywhere.
The meek soldiers follow in the footsteps of the noble commanders that have paved the battlegrounds for them.

The quiet soldiers want to fight,
the drafted,
given the gift of perfect aim but can never choose the right target.

I join the fight,
The fight to express thoughts and beliefs
Your words, silver bullets, sink deep into my skin.
They do not reach my heart, however.
They sink deep into parts of me that will not **** me,
but will leave me screaming in pain.
The pain of your words cut deep.
I struggle to fight back,
my pain, my motivation to keep up the fight.

The drafted are invisible
The fight continues,
the soldiers longing to be commemorated for the pain they endured in the fight.
We are the drafted,
the unnoticed.
Our pens, our weapons
and this battle is far from over