There are knives in her pockets
Jagged edges, thick with blood
But not the real kind
That would be too easy

No, this is the kind from the heart
The kind that is stolen
That only comes out when a heart is truly broken
And a sign of their defeat

She walks with a ruthless swagger
So caught up in her victory
Not even once considering
That she could ever be as weak

But in that, she is flawed
For anyone who so desires
Can walk right up and plunge them
Those same daggers into her own heart

And then she will know
She will feel the pain she caused
She will understand how weak she was
But she will not shed a single tear