red hair like roses, like
blood (and they said girls
couldn't be soldiers)

you are a battleground
encased inside a girl

your wounds are gunfire,
your scars, the aftershock —
the bullet wound

this world was built on
blood and wars (just like you)

and when it cuts you open,
raw and bleeding and blind,
all there is inside you is
the remnants of a revolution

pretty girls aren't meant for war
they told you this, long ago
but you, in your high heels,
red lips, red hair, red scars

you will defy them all

a war rages inside you
and pretty girls don't lose