Ball my fists
And hunch my shoulders
Swinging wildly
Til knuckle meets boulder
Does the earth merit my blood?
Do my bones merit the mud?
My voice becomes a vessel for words reserved for sailors and such
And my belly a sloshy sloppy pocket of ***
Writhing is my skin
At the thought of him within
Alone with no means of defense
Where defense means offense
And offense brings a means to an end
But I'd rather not think on the end
As I'm only about to begin
So I make a fist
And swing
Until nerves breach the bone
And veins burst within
I've known splinters and flint
And broken glass on skin
I know what it is to go without breath
And drown in the sink
This is just another week