Not Even She
So fierce, but never tough.
So strong, but never hard.
Resilient. Maybe.
But only for love.
Only for them.
For herself, she is weak. Fragile. And pays the price for every arrow the enemy hurls her way.
She longs to be hard.
She longs to be tough. Callous.
But all she can muster is a cry.
All she can do is hide.
Until they come after her Own.
Then she rallies to the fight.
Fierce. Strong. Resilient.
The Protector. The Valiant. The Victor.
Only to limp back to her shelter.
Bleeding. Hurting. Longing to Numb.
She finds some solace in the sun. In the grass. In the wind. In His creatures.
In the Music. In her People. In His presence.
But only some.
Until the next time.
They never know. Never quite know what she bears. What she carries. What she endures.
She protects her lovers from herself. From her pain. From her bleeding scars.
They see a Light. A Beacon of Belief. A Lover of her Own. A Friend, Comforter, Protector.
They see a light-hearted Believer.
A Giver.
But when she’s alone. When they are gone...
She cries. She longs. She aches. She fights the Demons who would take her as their own.
No one really knows the depths of her pain.
Not even she.