|Posted by llacroie on January 22, 2015 at 1:20 PM|
Sometimes I wish people had a little more vinegar in their piss.
I wasn't born a warrior. Like all mankind, I was a helpless, naked, infant dependent on it's mother to feed it and wipe its ass every time it took a shit. Life shapes and changes the contours of our face. The chuby cherub is molded and squeezed to look the part of who it really is. Have you ever seen a warrior with a babyface?
We, warriors, are pointed at by accusatory fingers of aggressors who can't see beyond our skin. We bleed each day. Internal wounds pronounce themselves, clearly, as smiles on our lips.
In a situation of crisis, everyone has a finger to point; someone to blame.
A warrior is born of two things; truth and intestinal fortitude. Fear weakens a warrior....never concede. Yes, death is a possibility. But, would you rather die a warrior, or someone who betrays their conscience?
We wear warrior marks well. We aspire to live..........and die, having lived well.