Written from the point of view of what I would consider a warrior, who only has something to say when I am feeling resentful towards a situation or person. She will do anything to get her revenge and believes payback is best served quick and sweet. She doesn't care what the consequences are, she just wants instant gratification. I've learned to keep her locked away, but sometimes she still manages to get her share of punches in.
Little Warrior
Resent sits behind my teeth,
often becoming too stagnant;
feeling an unquenchable need to come crashing through broken molars and sharpened canines,
her hair flying and her eyes wild.
She is adorned with weapons that nobody taught her how to use.
A switchblade heart accompanied by a razor tongue; ready to attack anything that moves.
Defense is her middle name.
She blows embers with her kisses setting fire to everything that was too stupid not to see it coming.
The burn is slow and sweet, just addictive enough to keep 'em coming back for more.
Cinnamon candies laced with arsenic.
She bathes in thorns, the ones she has grown in her very own garden.
Lacerations cover her, but she doesn't bleed like normal, she glows.
Sizzling heat lamp coils for veins, flowing with blood cells caressed by magma
Time has hardened her, turned her skin rose quartz and her heart to glistening diamond.
Life has taught her only fools will load their crossbows with flowers, if you want to survive you must aim to kill.
Always ready to shoot with a fatal arrow.
One day she will learn not everyone is out to get her.
