She is armor and wind.
Hair swirls around her face as proof.
Partial smiles hidden by black tangled curtains.
Her skin— tested chainmail.
Underneath her guards you will find
My fondness for the slight angle of her nose,
The way her laugh reminds me of singing,
And her desire to feel the shadows of the Great Wall.
Underneath her guards you will find
Scars I trace at night.
The one she has worn on her left shoulder since elementary school.
The other scar from the first realization we couldn’t call her mother on Tuesday evenings.
Underneath her guards hides the reasons she hurts,
but why she doesn’t look defeated like the rest of us.
Forty-Three Writing 