Armor

Unravel those twisted mounds; a knot of thorns,

Unfold that calloused wound fresh; a budding rose.

I never wanted to be strong yet here I am,

I fall, I rise, I hold my own hand.

No delicate bloom for you to pluck and adorn 

My beauty is not yours to squander, it is my own

Not a trophy for your conquest, nor a prey to subdue,

I am the Phoenix, from my own ashes anew.