some of us have not had downy soft lives.
we have stumbles, not all of our own making.
some of our battle scars are within,
hidden to the eye, but visible to those
who can see our breaking hearts,
some of our wounds are all too apparent.
and there is no looking away.
do not pity us. we do not pity ourselves.
we are too busy living.
we are survivors, still here to do battle
with the torments from within,
and whatever life throws at us.
we are here to love,
and to be loved.
we have not given up nor will
we look forward, feathers or no
perfect, not in our outer trappings,
but in the ragged beauty of our
courage has its own