My mother tells me stories of when I was born
how the doctor said I looked like her (I didn't)
and my brother cried in the lobby
Listening to her, I wonder
if she had known I was born to be a warrior
would those tears still be of joy?
A warrior in training every day
to not let the pain of illness show
because we all pity a sickly little girl
but nobody loves her
I was to be taught not to beg for mercy
even though the bruises would be shaped like belt buckles tomorrow
What I learned too was
every battle in a war ends
(although they leave marks)
And when the war was in my head
in the shape of forbidden curves
and feminine guile that tainted me with love
forbidden desires of the unholy misguided
the smile could never falter
because we all pity a sickly little girl
but nobody loves her
Sickly little girl
Nobody loves her
His wandering fingers left streaks of misery on my skin
******* me he put lead in my stomach
When he asked I closed my eyes
and thought of bruises shaped like belt buckles
(don't beg for mercy!)
And said "It's okay"
I was okay after too
Ten little pills lined up on the bathroom counter worth of okay
If you say a word enough it loses meaning
It's just a funny little sound
That can smooth worry out of brows
And ease smiles into eyes
It's okay. I'm okay.
Stop saying that word! You must stop
for the meaning to come back
in the tears you finally let yourself cry
and the words you stopped stifling
the pills you threw away
Mother,
Do not waste those tears now.
These were my battles
and maybe I was born to be a warrior
But I fought to be a champion.