Featured in the Pengenie blog post The Sound of Things to Come
Coping With Aggression
The Shatter of spilt milk
and here she came,
tongue clothed in
an acid gown,
her whitened eyes like knives
of sharp ice.
Be gentle myself
a black steel egg
smooth and impenetrable,
crack but a little.
She paled and shrank
the bite of my resolution
allowing her no claim on calamity
nothing was ever resolved by anger.
“I…” whisked away and meaningless,
“I…” slipped into her space without wounding,
a small “I…” jammed between the
cogs of outburst as I
change the gears
listen to her fears.
Disarmoured she errs in her aggression,
she sits on a chair named calm.
Expression a trait she now sweeps to herself,
experiences heard above denial or suppression
asking modified acceptance
lest submissive compliance
should dictate the steps of her dance.
Empowered we cut off the loose
threads of our weaving,
why pull ourselves apart?