They said: a woman is not to lead;

She’d stand for weakness and head to bleed.

Said, she’s a garden and we’re its seeds; she was meant to blossom, teach, and preach

She’s to lead her people with feet of resilience—

Superlative eye for the subtle, exquisite societies.

Never in war, she’s not to feed

Off of enemies. She’s the center; the heart that beats

They won’t let her heave, Warzones,

The air in between the alleys;

Dark scents of darkened souls.

It would murder her brain cells foremost—

Or; her dignity, if they get to her first

They didn’t want her skin to reflect,

Blood stains on cobbled streets.

Yet, hers reflects the loss of reflection a blood smudged river at night manifests

Still, they set her for weak.

In war, you can’t destroy the remnants of photos you inhale every second you breathe.

That woman- is to lead; mending and splinting their broken promise of peace.