I am not interested in how perfect you are
or how you portray yourself to be.
Instead
show me your scars and your bruises.
Tell me stories of your battles
and how you've grieved
Sing them with pride, honor, integrity
Not as a whimpering craven covered in self-pity.
Point me to the scorched earth
where you fell and soared out of
Take me to the deepest jungle
where you faced your darkest shadows
And then to the grave
of the inner demons slaughtered.
Cast away the porcelain mask that hides your scratches
We've enough charades to fill all of the world's stages
Drop your heavy armor
for true attack comes from within.
String your courage, your grit, your glory
With gold thread for the world to see.
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