In the moments between words

I was broken.

In the space between my thoughts

I was a victim.

I was surviving every dagger to my lungs

And calling myself weak.

Because I was the words hurled like lighting bolts

At my house of steel,

I was made of insults and lies.

My outline was made from wishing I was deaf,

Made by fire I swallowed,

Kept burning in my chest,

Made by tears when my body could no longer hold

The rock I called my soul.

My outline was. But I am not. 

I am not the burden I carry,

I am not the wars waged,

I am not broken.

Because I choose to be. 

Choose to be a personality,

Choose to be a soul,

Choose to be snow on the ocean,

And the breeze against your cheek.

I choose to be bigger than broken,

More than a victim,

And stronger than weak.

Because what I've battled is not the same

As the warrior I choose to be.