I lead a fighter's life.

Not every battle is extraordinary.

When I stand at the crossroads,

I choose the road less traveled.

Those times when I just want



to give up,

I'se keep climbin'.

I long to stand guard

in a field of rye.



I see the slaying of dreams

the Birth of a Nation.

I hear the praises of children

the voices of a village

I suffer the death of innocence.



I challenge the racist wails

of Rush and company.

I thank God for the likes

of Mother Theresa,

of the Little Rock Nine,

of those who have gone before

and survived.



I taste the sour kisses

of the boy who wants too much.

The thought of Peter Pan so far from his mind.

He'll never know the feeling of having control

of his body legislated

He'll never have to worry that the day after

the night the condom broke,

he'll lose his right to

choose.



I stare at the glass ceiling

and resent the smirks of men

on the other side.

GI Joe the real American hero?

Ha! Tell it to Hillary.

There will be rocks thrown in

this glass house.



I see them trying to instigate

and referee my battles.

They scream their cowardly battle cry

"Come and get it"

"You can't!"

"You won't"

"Don't even try!"



I lead a fighter's life.

Each day I find a new battle.

Each day I navigate my way through

Scylla and Charybdis.

Each day I face the Minotaur.

Not every battle is won,

But I've always lived to fight another day.



So ready or not, here I come.