How many times must my fists smack your stiffness until you soften?
I don’t want to use my fists, I’m not violent. Even in defense, words raised to take the hardness, silently, repeat, repeat. Raised to repeat, repeat. I never wanted to be violent.
I don’t want to use my fists, but your stiffness is contagious. I don’t know how to look at you without them, smacking every corner, separating hard shells.
I don’t want to use my fists. my hands, They’re raw and dry, too sanitized. and my shell is colliding, oozing, fermenting into juices of the berries you forbid. I don’t want to use my fists anymore. My hands want to open, softly. Sweet unfolding fingers offer demons blessed darlings.