Nobility

Contusions of the soul
turn to scars and scabs
in the spirit once whole.

Daily bombardments of slinging,
piercing daggers, emanate from
venomous memories hoping
to eviscerate.

Festering thorn buried deep,
systemic poison invades,
making it ooze and weep.

Protective shield
needed desperately
to soften the blows
against the will.

Mine - hand forged
stronger than steel,
fashioned from one tiny
speck of sand-irritant.

Viscous coating develops,
dries like stone, shaped
like me, body armor to
deflect incoming grief.

Random attacks rain out,
bombs out of left field and
from behind closed doors
and closed minds
explode unexpectedly
causing irreparable damage.

Life seeps out,
one cut at a time
stave off the blood,
suck it up and fight.

Counter strike attack
launched to try and
implode the combustion,
a way to cancel
each other out.

Who started this nasty war?

Was it me?

I'm just a frightened woman
playing all positions mercifully.

My dying wish is for a truce,
a cease-fire to insanity,
a warranted respite
from this inhumanity.

Lit smoking
bombs
just
sputter
and
fizzle
out

Self-
extinguishing
like
a
dud

For this is not a noble cause.

(I refuse to allow this attack on myself any longer.)