You call me child,
You call me week,
You call me naive,
oh, but sweetheart, I am not so,
my blood is made of stardust,
and my heart of burning flames,
I have the strength of a Warrior,
and mind of a wise man,
you thought you could lock me
in your grasp,
but darling my sword is sharp,
and your grip loose,
and this is how I become the queen
~~~~~~~~~~~
*
YOU ARE READING
Words Unspoken
PoetryThere is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street, and being the noise. Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace. Close both eyes to see with the other eye. Open your hands, if you want to be...
