I Am A Spitfire

I am an expert at breathing exercise

In and out is my forte

Cause I’m not quite sure if

 I’m ready to double over in rage

Or simply let it go.

When I forget to breathe,

I am a spitfire

My words bite

My tongue is hot steel

I am a god and my target is a soon to-be verbal victim.

Yet

That is not the socially acceptable form of me

I am told to breathe

To bite my tongue until the complaint is stifled.

Naturally I stick to my gut

Letting my diaphragm lead me

And my stomach lurch to the hand of my passion

I’ve been taught however

That we stick to commitments

Even if they feel wrong and betray who we are.

I’d rather follow my gut then the words of someone else

They are trails of fallacies

Only capable of the air,

Easily failing to water.

I fight

I scream

I let them try to rip me apart

I teach them that my tongue is sharper

I am capable of intricate vexations

Knots to prove my point.

I do not leave the battle without the last word.