Wednesday, November 9, 2016

I can tell you want to feed off of
my reactions. 
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. 

.Laura Curren.
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