Wednesday, November 9, 2016
I can tell you want to feed off of
Your aggression murders the romance
of conversation. Words are twisted
until I can't see their shape anymore.
You want to pull the anger out of me
so you can feel justified for your own.
You want to feel in control.
You want to stomp loudly & carry a big stick.
But I won't pull swords
out of my throat like this.
I won't shoot poison arrows
that blame bodies for being in the way.
I can suspect at the core
you're just a little boy inside,
just a man who has suppressed cries,
& if pain stays in the corner it was cast
then its shadow begins to
rip the light out of the room.