My Life In Word

Suit of Armor

She walks as though she fears no fight,
With sharpened words and eyes of night.
Her shoulders square, her voice held low,
So no one sees the hurt below.
She wears her anger like a shield,
A warning sign she will not yield.
Her laughter rings both hard and bright,
A blade she carries through the night.
They call her cold, they call her strong,
But never ask what made her wrong.
For underneath that iron skin
Lives all the pain she holds within.
Her armor hides a tender heart,
Still bruised from being torn apart.
She learned that softness comes with cost,
That open hands can still be lost.
So she stands firm and will not bend,
Afraid to trust, afraid to mend.
But armor grows too hard to bear
When no one knows the woman there.
One day, perhaps, she will decide
She no longer needs a place to hide.
And let the world, with gentle eyes,
Meet the softer woman inside.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by lesha tuman on Unsplash

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