I’ve got a secret.
We all do.
And I just want to say it.

I’ve always been a fighter.
To much like him.
But not enough.
I hope.
I don’t know where
I fit in.
What my purpose,
Is.
But I want to make a difference.
I’ve been a soldier ever since-
Dad left.
I grew up fighting.
You call me ghetto.
Cause I don’t hang out with
My race.
But I do because,
We’re fighters.
I’m to young,
Right now,
To say it’s a permanent choice.
But all I wanted,
Was to mean something,
To someone.
I have people who love me.
Die for me.
But I don’t believe them.
When you grow up,
Knowing every “true friend”
Only turns around,
And becomes a new enemy.
I’ve always been fighting.
I’ll die fighting.
Before old age.
Before I see grandchildren.
Or maybe even,
My mom being,
Burned into ashes.
Gone with the wind,
Blood staining my heart.
On the outside I smile.
On the inside I cry.
No one would guess.
“To pretty” .
“To happy”.
That’s the joy of being a,
Soldier.
I never give up.
I take the world and let,
It see what it needs to,
While I fight inner demons.
I keep fighting.
I don’t want any help
Anymore.
I don’t want,
Anyone’s pity.
I wouldn’t wish anything different.
Otherwise I wouldn’t be,
A fighter.