i, fighter

i want to serve
but not to be treated as your servant
my ego still insists
that i am worthy of your praise
or at least your acknowledgement
of my existence
i am a human being
if you cut me, i will bleed
and try like hell
to slice you back
i fight, not proudly
but readily
as though in recoil
i admire quaker friends
and try to turn the other cheek
but i have limits
boundaries beyond which
i will react
i have not killed
but in defense of a child
i would