Clad In Armor I give & I give & I give Until there's nothing left, it seems And yet, with all these sacrifices I make, Even still I feel greedy I calculate how much rope to throw out, How many lifesaver rings, By asking myself, "If I were there, what would I want?" And then, when I don't get the same ridiculous treatment back, I feel unloved. I feel unjust in my wanting I feel like a slut for giving 'I'm being used and I need to draw the line.' The meaning of strength, Being able to say 'no' To pull back To tell myself "they'll deal." But I feel some instinctual need to dispense myself among them. "Look at me, I'm a prince, I'm saving you Everyone should thank me, I am the savior!" and when I trip on my own sword, no one asks 'are you okay?' I guess I'm just a princess after all. I'm just an ordinary damsel wearing armor... And when all this chain mail weighs me down... I guess I'll go crucify myself.
			It had been awhile since I'd written a poem about myself, so I decided to. Of course, I ended up spewling about my martyr syndrome. I don't like the last line. It's stolen from Crucify by Tori Amos. But I don't know how else to end it... Tell me what you think! Go back to the poetry page.