Defector.

By giants I was taught strength,
and endurance to any length,
their lessons said to never cower,
and to covet the potion of power.
By the hand of the righteous knight,
I was taught to win and fight,
told to cut off my flowing hair,
before I wished away all despair.
The witches taught me to be a cynic,
never to chase what seems so idyllic,
and to never drink by another hand,
a draught I hadn't myself manned.
My lessons taught in a strange school,
tested by drowning in a bubbling pool,
instructed to never ever be meek,
yet I wonder, am I allowed be weak?

This leave I do not ask for,
is not to crumble during war,
but in the moments in between,
could I be maid instead of queen?
When we suspend battle for the night
and the massacre is awash in moonlight,
could I scurry out of this black tent,
to the enemy give my heart on rent?
When the casualities have laid to rest,
after we laud those who took the test,
with these bruised knees could I walk a mile,
to lie under a man who makes me feel fragile?

An iron box made of valor I cart,
inside it lies my womanly heart,
and it asks of me things I cannot give,
to kneel before demons I must not forgive.
To ask of them music and pain,
is much more than I must deign,
when the battlefield is littered with sons,
of my valiant sisters who met their guns.
In darkness I crawl through mud and soot,
to cradle beside my sworn enemy's boot,
and when I am placed before my rector,
on my bare skin they will engrave defector.
So by day I join my ranks in armour of steel,
teach myself to seek and destroy, not feel,  
and pretend there is no way I can,
ever know what it is to love a man.
By night I don silk for a different game,
one of defeat and unspeakable shame,
scented with weakness I let myself be undone,
and let my destroyer love me like a woman.