When I was a little girl my dad assured me,
“Sticks and stones may break your bones,
but words will never hurt you.”
But he was wrong all along, because he didn’t know
You.

He didn’t know that you’d be gifted a tongue as sharp
as your mind. And how was he to know that beneath the glow of
your smile lay a row of teeth, ready to feast on my tender flesh.
Nevertheless, I’m impressed.
Because your lips, which once tenderly rested upon mine,
morphed effortlessly from a loving simper into a resentful scowl,
clinging to every syllable and vowel you
expeled.

And your eyes.

You’ve the kind that can burn holes through
my skin, capable of scalding even the toughest of souls
into recession. See,
I adored the way your eyes burned when they were
aflame for me. But today, I am meek.
My eyes struggle to met yours, for I learned that one solitary peek will
set me ablaze.

But still, I love you.

So light a match and tattoo my skin with burns,
for over the years I have grown and I have learned.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me.