I have flirted with razor blades.
Metallic kisses at wrists tender.
Veins pulsing in delicate ribbons.

I have contemplated a flight from life
with just one flick of the sharp edge.
Only to have my courage fail .
The last strand of my pride
saved me from a coward's death.

I have drank liquor.
Popped pills and smoked herbs
to distance nightmares and night sweats
remembering vividly what I try to forget.

My body has been a war zone
combating cancer, depression and rape.
Bleeding daily for a year.
Issues with subscriptions and prescriptions.
Nerves grating, gritting teeth
with every situation life pitted against me.

Trails of tears, broken hopes and forsaken dreams.
Moments it seemed I should just give up
stop fighting and fall victim.
Something raged inside.

Spirit rebelling like mustang steeds unbroken.
Coasting on the prayers of mothers.
Simple salvation of poems.
Penning pain until it became one long
soliloquy of struggle.

Yet I am not defeated.
I am not dead.
I have not lowered my head
or bowed my back for the breaking.

This is a woman's truth

I am more than a survivor.

In spite of the visible scars.
Wounded womb.
Foul flashbacks and fear

Rising as a fetid stench to nostrils

flaring wide in resistance.

I bare the tale of warrior women.
Mouth rounded with wisdom gleaned
from my suffering.

I shed the layers of insecurity openly
so that my skin bares witness to truth.

I am the colored girl that considered suicide.
I live in spite of the rainbow.

I am the woman who found her healing
not at the others whims but by

clutching the hem of strength and faith.

Learning to hold on for just one more day
until the sun rise breaks new.
Each day brings me closer
to being the woman I desire to be.

This is a woman's truth.

I am more than a survivor.