Out she stepped onto the battleground
And just like they’d told her to
She held her heart out on her sleeve.
They’d warned her it would be hard
She’d get bruised and wounded and it’d hurt all over,
But that it’d all be worth it in the end.
So every time, she fought the instinct
To draw out her shield
When the archers took aim;
To take cover
When the spears were launched;
To flee the field
When the cannons were fired
She bled each time the weapons made mark,
But sure enough, just as they’d said,
Each time the tender wounds healed
And just as the kiln hardens the clay,
Slowly but surely,
She felt her heart grow stronger
The arrows weren’t any duller
Nor the cannons any lighter
Yet with every shot, every hit
The muscle stitched itself back together
A little bit faster:
The cuts and wounds once so agonizing
Now felt nothing more than little pinpricks.
What she didn’t realize, though, was
Her heart remained no longer as it once had been:
Stronger formed was scar tissue in its stead.
Yes, scar tissue is tough
Certainly, it doesn’t bleed
But a heart of scar tissue
Doesn’t beat, either.