Drag me down into the dirt so I may know the grit of the mud. There is no safety here, no gentle hands carrying sleeping children, no warm touch teaching you love. These worn hands have known life. Have struggled and fallen, have pulled themselves out of holes only to tumble back into them. There is no cry or try. These eyes have never known tears they only persevere. That dead look you see is not death, it's the will to live as death knocks on the door. Drag me down under the water these lungs are full of sweet air and they will never give it up. Breath has never been the death of me and it will never be. My memories were never filled with fleeting thoughts and fantasies but infused with try and try again. There's so much to be said about a heart wearing armor not to hide, but to protect. My heart is a warrior adorned with passions and flavors unknown by most mouths. So drag me down onto me knees watch me fight with my warrior's heart and worn hands.