it wasn’t sharp, not really.
more like a petal that refused to wilt.
She carried it across the hate-filled earth,
the way one might cradle a candle, guarding its flame.
wherever she struck,
flowers rose in apology,
and hatred found itself unable
to remember why it stayed.
people whispered:
you can’t fight with such a thing.
but she did.
and the world softened around her attacks.
for her weapon ...