by Chloe Jacobs

I don’t know why bitterness is my mother tongue
Why my readiest tools are sharp
Biting
Where I learned to be so cruel
Who schooled me in dead-eye dead-pan
Spoken-word violence
Who taught me to pick fights
Take names, break kneecaps
Bite to the elbow the hand extended
To feed me

I am not sorry
at least I tell myself I’m not.
The me I am is razor-wire, attack-dog,
Hot-poker vinegar-girl
There is a reason for safety-lines
Beside rushing electric trains,
Explosive tests, wildcats in captivity,
The wavy line of hornet-buzz on air
And I will not apologise
For my nature