Something ABout Mary

And still, I rise.

Fighters of the Universe
  Asks if I am still a fighter.
  Are you still a fighter?

A poet maybe with a gift of prophesy
  But splattered like black paint
  With ash on the ground.

I don't know if I rise or not anymore.

Constrained, punished, victimized.
  But partially untouched.

Where did my virginity go?