Vindictive

You are lightning waiting to strike, you are Wound so tightly that I fear for when you spring. You are a thousand sharp words topped by cruel eyes but You don’t hold back and I like that about you. Although it’s probably why you don’t have very many friends. But I – I could write sonnets about you on napkins. You’ve got a problem with finagling the truth. That’s why people shy away from you. In your mind, there’s no use beating around the bush. Dear girl, imagine what other girls think of you. It’s their fault, you say. You don’t offer up These vindictives just to spite someone. They asked if they looked a fifth-grader, and you answered them. You weren’t going to tell them no because they did. But you know when to stop. You hate mangling the truth but you know where the line is and you don’t cross it. That thickness in the air before the summer storm breaks, That’s you. The dry crackling grass of winter, that’s you too. You are the roar of jet planes, shrieking turbines in your wake And you are the quiet brush of bushes at night. I’d never think gentle describes you until unexpectedly, you are. But I wouldn’t forget the way you refuse to be tamed. (Forgive me, but for a while, I fancied myself a lion tamer. I dreamed of hand holding and gentle smiles. In retrospect, I’m glad you never found out because I would be thoroughly disappointed if you didn’t rip me to shreds. You aren’t meant to be kept like a caged bird, wouldn’t be happy like that and you wouldn’t be quiet in telling me so. But I don’t know if I could handle the straight truth in the style you prefer. I am a gentle soul.) You are a viper, my dear, and you’d kill me for that endearment. But darling, oh, venom you’ve got in spades. And ‘sweetheart’ might be a little too fond to encompass all that you are. A denizen of hell, a warrior of heaven; whatever the comparison You are ferocious.