Sometimes in life we try to make sense of conflict by using the emotional tools at our disposal. Because every action is powered by a motive, I imagine that we could easily confuse our weapons and our wounds. How on earth would you know the difference without some personal insight? Choosing the right one can make all the difference- whether you’re the aggressor or the oppressed.


like a distant memory were the red clouds of rage that
filled the doorway at the end of a work day
like an awful nightmare were the weaponised
words that burrowed and clawed relentlessly

-but I’ve learned to separate my wounds from my weapons-

one set being honed and sharpened for defence
the other set, healing quickly as I see nothing but open skies
I watch fear scuttle away like the coward it is
as my words cascade in a tsunami of boiling ink

Β©Vivian Zems

Real Toads– Fussy Forms-Puente

Poetry United #432