I now aim to walk three miles a day,
weather depending—
they say to me, "Yeah, you don't want to blow away?"
I am getting more meat on my bones
with each new rise,
you just don't understand
that I may wear a civilian's skin
but I see through a soldier's eyes.
I may not have witnessed
what they themselves have seen,
but the foundations of the training is there
hidden behind what may seem serene.
To anyone else it may be viewed as obscene,
but it may be because of my dad
who says, "Once a Marine—always a Marine."
In reality it could very well be my soul,
the surviving quality playing the role.
I push myself out of the situation that I am in,
and because of this people tend
to be wary of the mischief behind my grin.
The pain now feels so damn good,
more so than it should.
"You can do this," I tell myself
with all of my might,
"After all, pain is weakness
leaving the body—right?"
I am not suicidal—not by a long shot,
I am the woman that somehow still has a soft spot.
I love my life and thank god for each new day,
that I open my eyes...
after I instinctively groan
for the sun's bright rays to go away.
But I am also a victim of past abuse,
and now I am going through that metamorphosis
after being giving the option to choose.
The ache in my muscles feeds me
almost as much as food itself does,
even if people give me weird glances
at my shrug and "Just because."
I know that one day soon
I will not be weak,
because I shed away that teenaged girl
that was too meek.
I will push myself forward
as long as I have to,
for making myself strong
is something long overdue.
About the Creator
Stephanie Lifton
Hi! You will soon find different varieties here. I am a writer and a poet, though I am still passing some stepping stones with this. I get wrapped up in the poem sometimes and it may turn out long in the end, so I apologize in advance. :3
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