Are you a weapon?
No, but god I wish I was. I cry when I feel overwhelmed. Which now happens at least twice a week. I can’t stop my hands from shaking and my lips from quivering when a voice is raised in my direction. I flinch at sudden movement and I close my eyes during the drop. I wish my edges were jagged enough to cut but they’re more missing puzzle piece then the blade of a knife. I’m not delicate but I’m more bruised knees and skinned palms than I would like to be. More swollen eyes and runaway heart than a weapon ought to be. I smile with blood stained teeth, not from the bite of my words but from one too many bites on my tongue. I want to be a weapon. I want to be a challenge. I want to be a threat to someone other than myself.















