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The Pity I Refuse to Accept

A word that when I tell people my story, their looks are filled with.
A word that sends shivers down my spine. 
A word that reminds me of what I am.
 You look at me, and you see a broken girl who’s father wasn’t there. I look at me, I see a young warrior.
 A girl that learned to fight without the help of her father, or her brothers. Only the man who was more of a father than my own father ever was.
I see a girl who refuses to be that broken little girl. You look at me you see pieces of alcohol bottles scattered and a little girl crying.
 I see red knuckles from punching a sand filled bag and getting all my anger out. You see weakness.
 I see strength. Nights going over punches and kicks in my head and tweaking them. Making sure no one will be able to hurt me again.
I see bloodied lips from getting them split open while fighting.
 I see me pushing myself to my limits, because if I break myself first, no one else can. 

Copyright © Taina Rodriguez