I have survived the fists that fly
blurry
furious intently pelting my face
my stomach
my chest.
But these were not the weapons
that bested me.
I have derived strength when under attack
beneath an onslaught of miniscule swords.
The blades that had made the scars that have Frankensteined my arms.
The points of injection
meant to numb the pain of a lovers rejection,
festered the wound at muscles depth an infection.
At the target I aimed and I missed, and I missed and I missed-
flames took the place where once planted kisses.
Knife fights in Mexico!
Say I, a lie
to explain fucked up scars...
Prison riot,
Shark attack
Saved burning babies from an Alien attack....
Wouldn't you know people would believe all of that?
The weapons wielded by fictitious explanations,
of how I had achieved such admirable devastation and lived to tell of my life lived by the swords.
Let me tell you
in fact
I harbor no fear of ANY of that.
I will never quake from a stand still
in fear
of riot gear.....
But come near,
let me whisper this part in your ear.....
( it's always the weapon of words that I fear. Nothing like words will strike near or strike true, like a weapon of words can and will do. They once almost killed me, how 'bout you?)

© All Rights Reserved