in the end, she always wins
and what a thing of beauty that is

it’s my choice whether she wins up front,
or whether she has to rip the win from me,
as I clutch to it tightly
with a resolve rooted in fear,
bolstered by ego

she always wins, and when she does…
a renewed sense of self,
previously unimaginable

these are hard won victories,
but necessary

no wonder she rages beneath the surface,
railing against each lie told,
begging to be seen,
desperate to be heard
never knowing who or what would be allowed to take another piece
in the name of temporary satisfaction

it hasn’t always been safe to be her
and yet,
she’s persisted
beneath the fear,
beneath the shame,
beneath the ego

she’s always persisted,
and she’s always won,
victories i’m all too glad to deliver to her
now that I know,
she is me.


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