Keep your growing edges sacred.
Your borders are sharp.
Be the weapon with your words and subtle gestures.
Do not be sweet to those who show you their visas and expect to waltz through customs.
I can see you’re made of knives no one taught you to use.
Drown your criminals in hot wax, waste their fingers in acid.
The war inside you does not have to be civil, honey.
Tie those fuses together, Coyote style.
Watch their guts splatter on the ceiling, the fridge, the dish towel,
and shed your shell at the back door.
If no one taught you how to build your foundation, start with the nerve and muscle that hold you together.

Justine Nolt

Contributing Writer

More From Canvas

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *