They named me after a sword,
I was born to be a tool of destruction.
From birth, they molded me,
They hammered out all the things that made me a girl,
Forging me into a weapon to wield on their whims.
I was once asked why I do not cry,
Even at the deaths of comrades or lovers.
I could not mourn my stolen childhood.
I could not cry for my lost innocence,
Because I am a weapon,
And weapons don’t weep.
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