Bring It On, B
by Aaron Blair
There is blood in my mouth, and dirt,
the paste pain makes to remind you of your place,
and they have stacked the weights high on my chest,
because I will always ask for more.
I know there's no iron heavy enough to hold me,
to keep me pinned against the ground.
They will tire, as tyrants always do,
caught by surprise when I still rise,
when I clench my fists and push myself up,
wounded, broken, but still defiantly alive.
You thought you could unmake me,
but you only ever made me more.
You taught me how to be strong.
Author's Note: Child abuse doesn't work against little girls who grow up to be contrarians.
Posted on 11/04/2013
Copyright © 2023 Aaron Blair
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/04/13 at 03:52 PM|
"but you only ever made me more." A brilliant line in this empowered poem. One can either run from that first line or push through to feel all the layers of strength here. Thank you.
|Posted by Bertram Sparagmos on 11/06/13 at 02:18 AM|
Hrm. I thought this was going to be an alliteration study.