i’ve folded inside myself so many times,
and i’ll probably do it again.
i’m naive like that,
assuming everyone needs a card or two.
i can’t poker face for shit.
if i have a set of cards, i’ll show them.
if my hand is empty, will you share yours?
not many people have what it takes to straight face you,
to warm embrace you,
with sincerity enough,
to efface you.
i melt towards those people like chocolate on a tongue,
stuck on a palate,
after-taste lingering in me.
i’m loyal like that.
if you treat me with an ounce of kindness,
i don’t forget,
so it utterly shatters my entire being,
when i reciprocate in kind,
and through the abased nature of narcissist privilege,
you assume i have to give you more than my loyalty.
another part of me too sacred to touch,
a place I hate about myself so much,
but you want to appease your fetishes with.
how easy it is for them to chew my flesh,
back-bitten with disregard and repress,
slander me, without shame you undress,
the unfamiliarity of who i am and oppress.
i’m but a stranger to them, not even a piece of bread,
nor glass of water, have we shared,
yet still, my honour, my name, my being
lied against without care.
i won’t forgive you until you acknowledge your doing,
come clean with the poisonous seeds you’ve sewn,
and come out of the skin of the snake you own.
i’m a recluse by nature,
but did you think you could bite me with your poison,
and I not develop my own venom?
take these words instead as a final bouquet of peace to you,
or i’ll lay the last bouquet on your graves, ey-vallah.
and it will not be by physical means at all,
i’ll raise my hands skyward and your whole progeny will cease,
be buried in your womb.