We are instructed to keep our faces covered,
our black sunglasses over our eyes,
some of us hold flags, some of us guns,
the wind is threatening to blow my beret off,
how devastating my curling, snarled hair
would appear against the back drop of defiance and war.
I am sure we are right,
my ground is stood.
If I were not a militant,
the grenade in my hand would not be eager to escape
exploding next to you, waiting to get under your skin.
And if I were not a woman,
with the mind to perpetuate our purposes,
then my soul would not know this ocean's storm.
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