I am a fortress.
I have withstood wars that should have broken me.
Burned down and decimated by the mindless,
I rise up from the ashes.
I stand with my body, eternally.
I am strong.
My thighs are battle grounds trodden down three times round
and they're blooming new flowers,
mending from those who fought over them far too long,
my thighs have super powers.
I am soft and sultry sweet,
full of vulnerabilities.
Nature proves if anything that this will never make me weak.
My eyes once snuffed out are blazing brilliant brightly now,
rivers of tears have been filled in,
replaced by peaches and cream and skin.
My arms are solid protective forces,
my hands, tangible whispering caresses.
I wear my broken bits on my *******
puffed out chest with pride,
for I have nothing to hide.
My feet take me to and from all the places I've ever gone,
and my mind,
my mind, it tries. It tries so ******* hard,
and my heart cares so much that it shows
in every scar and battle wound,
in every mark that was ever taken as a flaw by boys who never saw
that without the storms I wouldn't glow the way that I glow,
every boy who told me to 'go with the flow'
like I couldn't learn a **** thing for myself.
Still, the lessons people preached did teach me a thing or two,
just not what they usually intended,
my face doesn't face up to face value,
belief is most beautiful when suspended.
My eyes see lies better than my thighs do,
yet resilience sees to it that both are mended,
but if there's anything I've ever learned that's true,
you should never leave anything open-ended