The Knife

Upon being unable to fold up the weapon,
he tells me that I’m “such a girl”.
I forget that his insult is my compliment,

dousing him in ice-cold water,
and only hours later, giving him thanks.

The true insult would be his approval.
The true tragedy would be all of us,
all the time,
well-practiced in instruments
of death and mutilation.

His disregard for my sharp grace
is just a symptom of his blindness.

I am Other Girls.


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