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I Lead A Fighter's Life MAG
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.
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