I am not afraid of pressing my hand to the hot stove,
Or soaking my feet in puddles I did not see.
I have the courage to rise before the darkness breaks,
And I am fearless when it comes to mailing my heart.

But I could not stand against your silent sword
Of disregard.
To be the old rag that is tossed after
Wiping up a spill that spread with insidious
Intent. If there is such a thing.
Which I then questioned.
Which made me question me,
More often than I had moments left in my hereness.
Making me lose, with great sadness, my heroine status
Over and over again.

But.

Even kneeling or
Flat on my back in the gray dirt of ash,
I whispered to myself,
Remember, brave girl: I am still

I am still

I am

Still.