Grasping the will to hurt feels like the agony before coming: closer… closer… closer…
—then relax into the selfish moment. Sometimes there is only the thing inside
you and the thing you would turn your gun on. T once saw that in me and asked
what I knew about breaking another woman. All I said was, she wouldn’t try
that shit with me. I know with the sincerity of cemetery soil I could ruin
somebody—but you can’t crow about that kind of think: show yourself
to be a lion and no one recalls you were ever a lamb. I’m not a friend
of the Bible but I know it can be best to move in peace.
I only wonder if the opposite of a weapon must always be
bare flesh. This world is molding me into a being that likes
to break. Be brave, I tell myself, even when
the quake in you is baiting.
Pick a different beast—
one that digs deep—