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.
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