By Hall   

You think I'm fragile, soft, mild.
That if you touch me I'll smudge.
That if you bite my lips
I'll bleed as you linger.

You think I'm golden and pure.
That my bruises are innocent.
That if you kissed my neck
my feeble pulse would drown.

Do you think I know nothing of agony?
Do you think it is in my nature as prey?
That I will never sink my teeth in
and tear asunder with righteous storms
the very hearts of those who hurt you
and dared to threaten guarded harbors?

I am not the wounded gazelle,
I am the beast that did the damage.
There are monsters inside this head of mine
and I cannot let myself be sheltered
in the sweet skin of a sacrificial lamb
when I am the one who slaughtered it.

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