Armor

I forged this armor
with my blood and bone
like smelted metal from
years of saved up pocket change 
and the woven hip length hair
from my nearly shaved head
when I was twenty-two
and have worn it since.

The strength of this armor--
Unparalleled. 
The weight of it
made me strong,
yet it weighs heavy
after all these years.

I cannot begin to count the scratches,
the dents, the pockmark scars 
of battle wounds.
That much is very true.
My armor is far from new.
Yes, I should have 
replaced it a time or two.
It’s been steadfast,
a friend, truer than any lover
ever has been, yes.

My shield, I can barely lift.
My arm and body weary
from the weight of shield
and armor—

The sword?   I laid it down
a little while ago
when I finished forever
the battles with myself, you see.

Yet the armor, the shield
have protected me,
though they weigh heavy,
and I am weary. 

Forgive me, forgive me
that my fingers tremble
at the buckles.
For when the weight
of this armor falls,
you would be the first
to truly know me at all.



—