Little Warrior Poem by Amouta Stardancer

A rag-tag six,
two girls, four boys,
a motley-crew,
with hand-me-down toys.
A fierce little leader,
a girl of green eyes,
and her wild pack of children.
She fights for recognition,
for fun, and for blood,
in cut up clothes,
and covered in mud.
All those adults,
who laugh at her tries,
would burst into flame,
in her fiery eyes.
The spirit of a warrior,
raging in a child,
set to defeat her restraints,
determined to remain wild.
Destined to be great,
to be free,
someday years away,
to impatient for destiny.
An American girl,
upset with her country,
corrupt unforgiving,
as she fights to be free.
Blind with fury,
and deaf with depression,
as she's muted with childhood,
imprisoned, youth her transgression.
Her soul stuck,
in chasms of death and despair,
tired of commands,
she sits alone there.
A headstrong little child,
who just wants her justice,
to smart to be stupid,
and take her rightful bliss.
Her hatred,
is her burning core,
and her name, for now at least,
is war.