Write a poem of meditation on an emotion you’ve felt powerfully.
That dagger was there since I was 6
and I guess I never wanted to bother anyone, so I never asked for help.
It didn’t matter anyway. The tip
of the blade always sank
Deeper when they bombarded me.
Loud, laughing voices
pulling me down in their quicksand
so they could feel better
about their crappy lives.
They were that kind of people
thought their own shit didn’t stink.
I guess I never wanted to bother them, so I never pulled out the blade to use it on them.
And I didn’t know it was okay to tell them it wasn’t ok. I didn’t know how to say no.
Not protecting myself was how I thought I could protect myself.
That dagger rusted inside of me.
Poisoned my blood with their voices.
In dreams they screamed
and the pain made me an insomniac
howling at the full moon.