First I was just me- without concern of who to be. Quickly discovered the masses saw weakness, circling around my image of meekness.
So I had to become a bully slayer, defeating fools & becoming a player. Push around me & my nerdy friends? I was ready to bleed, make you make amends.
Next I became a peacekeeper, swearing off violence & shunning the reaper. Abhorring all conflict, preaching restrain, stuck in the middle, using my brain.
Beat down by love, became a bystander, safe on the sidelines, swallowing candor. Too weak to be strong I moved to the side, silently crying as part of me died.
Lived for a bit, warming the bench, disgusted, dismayed by my own failure’s stench. Down for the count but still not quite out, swelling inside, desiring to shout.
Awake & alive, became a fighter again, not with my hands but a mighty pen. Shattering silence, speaking my piece, resolved once again, finding release.
Now I fight for the tired, downtrodden, and shamed; those not desired, not brought in, or named. I speak for the fired, forgotten, the framed; I stand for myself and all claiming their names.
And at last I am me- my true identity. May not be much but it seems like enough, equal parts wild and mild, tender and tough. My fears have been shed and my mask has been torn; at last found my voice, I am reborn.