Daughter of Saints
It feels as though I have lost my tongue.
No meters this time, no reason. no rhyme.
How funny. I've always been a liar.
(I learn from the very best--
education starts at home.)
Why I put up with my own abuse,
who can say?
Perhaps I am a fool for love.
Perhaps I still believe in blood.
Perhaps I cannot bear it anyway.
I stay because I am not strong enough
or cruel enough
or even alive enough
The breeze that comes each midnight
tells me always,
"You can take no vengeance
that is not vengeance on yourself-
you can heal your hurts
"You can cause no harm
that is not harm to yourself-
you can give yourself the care
they never can."
So I wait. Like a fool.
Just as deserts wait for rain,
just as darkness waits for day,
for my justice,
come what may.