“What they don’t tell you
about the gentle ones,
is how we keep all our hurts in cages,
and line them up like circus attractions
on the inside of our own chests.
We carry the weight of them,
and call it surviving.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the ones who grew up
walking tightropes,
is that we only look so graceful
because we never learned
how to climb down
and we call this
remarkable.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the illusion
is that I am as much lion
as I am lion tamer.
And I got good at inflicting pain
the same way I got good
at soothing it.
This, we call unfortunate,
but inevitable
and sure.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the gentle ones
is how raw we all are,
just below the surface:
how the roar of the crowd
feels like a city burning;
how we love like immolation;
how we leave nothing but dust
in our wake.
.
We call this
poetic justice.
What they didn’t tell you
about us
is that we’ve learned so well
that we only have to be cruel
once.”
— The Gentle Ones