My tongue's a saber
Inside a false stiletto heel
My hair has barbs, piranha fangs concealed within each strand
It slices your skin if you go along it in the wrong direction
A blowgun sits just inside my throat
With pouches of toxin close by
My eyes are radar slits
With slowly revolving fields
A mollusk shell shields my emotions
A chain mail plexus lies camouflaged along my body
It's impossible being me
And trying to not wound you-
I sometimes lie to myself, and I tell myself
That I do not care that you are wounded,
That you should have known
That any dealings with me would result
In you're being hurt; you should have expected it
On the worst days, I gash you joyously
To hear you howl and
To see the blood run in rivulets.
But I always cry in the dark
When nobody can see it
And wish that I were more normal;
Surrounded on all sides as I am
By the walking wounded.
Great posting H, it's like your're describing a cyborg, a killing machine that has just enough human emotion left to know it's doing wrong. Great picture too, what is that snow, salt, chemicals?
ReplyDeleteThis is another one of my favorites from you. Great poem - great mood-setting and choice of words very fitting with the idea. You sent chills at "On the worst days..." to the end.
ReplyDeleteI know how this feels....but I don't know how you could have described this so ...it works its magic so well
ReplyDeleteA powerful, dark piece, Patti. I love those opening lines - so stark and terrifying.
ReplyDeleteI liked your poetry so much on Hello Poetry that I thought I would pay you a visit here--and it was well worth it. I like the sharp edges in this one. They are dangerous and deftly wielded.
ReplyDeleteHi H. I was on HP a while ago reading your latest posting, I left my comment then I was told it had been deleted. It was very good, unsettling, but good.
ReplyDelete