Fighter

Fighter

Regret cuts through her like a knife,
like the shards of glass she picks up off the floor,
in the aftermath of the fight
that tore her world apart.
“I won’t cry,” she tells herself,
“I won’t allow him the pleasure
of seeing me break.”
Inside her heart has been reduced to
nothing but broken seams,
and smashed plastic parts.
Her hands are birds with broken wings,
her eyes are painted on,
so hollow.
She faces him with bruises on her arms
and blood on her lips.
She faces him with tiger’s fangs
and the courage of a lion.