By: Linda M Crate

i grew up
through the leaves
and the branches
of dead things
where
you left me buried in snow,
and i know you’d like
to think you had
some sort of influence or power
over me
that you could stop me
from growing;
but i’ve never ever given anyone
complete control
i always hold something back
so i can twist their truth
as a dagger into
their souls
if i needed to defend myself
because in my experience
“good people” are rarely good people
they generally hurt me the most—
you were no exception
leaving me
to die
on the forked edge of your tongue
a silver tongued serpent
will always strike the heart of the wounded
because they are wounded themselves,
but you would never let me
help you heal your
wounds;
you only tore me open
so you could
feel—
i wanted you to know the rabbit is dead,
but the raven rose again
my talons will end you.