The Heart of a Worrier

They said I could fight monsters, but how when they’re in my head?
I wanted to be a warrior, not a worrier,
A mother of adventures,
not a martyr building my own cross on which to hang myself daily with a list of all of my transgressions.
Wild spirits call to wildness, or so they say.
What then does the broken one call to?

You can fight monsters when you embrace the fire, crafting from it your own tools of war.
Swords of truth, crowns of power, rings of love.
Shields to block the lying whispers.
What if inside the worrier, I find a warrior and arm her with what I have crafted with my own hands?
They said I could fight monsters, perhaps the scariest are the ones in my head.

Kim Congram © 2017

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