Woman1 min 210 1 min 210
I don't claim to be pure.
I'm adulterated with griefs and sin,
Stained with all the colours of emotion.
Do not say I'm naive.
I will give you a hand when you need it,
And push you off a cliff lest you hurt me.
Don't just call me sweet.
I'd rather you acknowledge my wit
Than reduce me to a sugary epithet.
Do not think me weak,
I just smiled through the storms,
never having to reveal my strength.
Don't call me an angel,
I can save the world,
Only once I'm done saving myself.
Let me baptize myself.
But If ever you wish to christen me at all,
Call me a Survivor.