My father killed people
to feed his family.
He was a great man, although
there wasn’t a preacher man alive
that could help cleanse his soul.

When I was fifteen,
I learned how to snap a man’s neck
in four moves;
I could disarm the heaviest man alive
in the time it took to
unzip my outerwear.

My father loved me,
bless his soul,
but there was no combinations of moves
he could’ve taught to protect me
from the boy who broke my heart
faster than I could snap his neck.
One, two, three,
crack.