Having been trampled on for years,
I never will forget the feeling
of his treads on the bridge of my nose.
(I’m tired of crying, sick of feeling helpless.
It’s time to start fighting.)
They say I’m a warrior,
I’m a fighter,
I’m a survivor.
My claws are out.
I’m sorry I didn’t fight
but it’s never too late.
I’m prepared to rip him
to shreds with my words.
Cut him up with my poems.
Ribbon him with my metaphors.
(It angers me I never fought back.
It upsets me I never clawed my way out
of that jail cell I occupied.
It infuriates me I surrendered so easily.)
Instead of fighting with tooth & nail,
it’s time to stop the regrets,
and pick up the sword of truth