I have sharpened my teeth.
I have developed a taste for blood.
There is anger inside of me, dark and wild, that I was once too afraid to explore. It is a hot thing that fingers my bones awake. You see, justice is only given to those who are willing to break themselves for it — to those who are willing to lose themselves for it. I died and came back taller.
I have waited for this moment.
I have prayed for it.
The girl who’s looking in the mirror gazes back a woman whose strength she finally understands. It took me years to shed the scared and sorry; to use my hands for more than giving. I broke the fingers but it was not for love. And slowly the poems grew to incantations beckoning darkness swift like the night — I rode through it.
My heart beating: Never again. Never again.
Your throat in my hand.
I lost myself for it(, but I found myself again).