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Poetry

My War Paint Is Ink

I may write more than I shout and read more than I argue
I may march with a sign not a sword
But I am still fighting
These deeds have power, though seemingly soft, unconventional
Books have the capability to alter minds; to promote ideas without ear-shattering fanfare or trumpets
The greatest ideas need not be the loudest
Though my war paint is drawn in ink and not blood, it still paints a picture
Not one of red—we’ve had enough violence
Words of empathy will build a home for understanding
Read these words

Hear me roar

Like this post? View similar content here: Burdens of the Fearful

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by DimeryRene

Reader, daydreamer, and adventure-seeker. Oxford comma advocate.
Cold coffee, hot weather, and mild conversations.


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