si vis pacem, para bellum

They say if you want peace, you have to prepare for war,  
but nobody mentions how exhausting it is  
to carry both a shield and a soft heart  
in the same ribcage.  

Some days I’m a battlefield.  
Some days I’m a blanket.  
Most days I’m both,  
which feels like a cosmic joke  
with suspiciously good timing.  

I don’t want to fight.  
I just want quiet—  
the kind that feels like warm rain  
or a room where no one expects me  
to be sharper than I am.  

But peace never arrives politely.  
It shows up like a stray cat  
with attitude problems,  
demanding food, affection,  
and a place to sleep  
even though it claws the furniture.  

So yes—  
I prepare for war.  
Not the dramatic kind.  
Not the cinematic kind.  
The emotional kind,  
where the enemy is my own doubt  
and the battlefield is the space  
between who I was  
and who I’m trying to be.  

My armor is soft.  
My weapons are boundaries.  
My strategy is survival  
with a side of humor  
because if I don’t laugh,  
I’ll cry,  
and if I cry,  
I’ll flood the whole damn kingdom.  

If peace requires preparation,  
then let me prepare gently.  
Let me sharpen my courage  
without dulling my kindness.  
Let me walk into the next storm  
with trembling hands  
and a steady heart.  

If you want peace, prepare for war—  
but no one said the warrior  
couldn’t be tender.  

— LR 🖤

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