There is violence in me that I have forgotten
Violence has been a mother’s love
She hones me against the world
I whet my weapons against her
Cutting ourselves against each other
I have known love in bleeding
There is violence in me I forget
Violence has been the gentleman’s regard
He praises this great fractured world
I maim myself to fit its crevices
Stitching wounds with unsterilized scraps
I have seen sanctuary in dying
There is violence in me I forget
Violence has been a lover’s touch
That bruises, claims, flees and strays
I pour myself in asymptotic lines
Sequestering skin with colored alloy
I become a possession worth keeping
There is violence in me I forget
Violence has been the world’s scorn
It brands me a whore, a glutton, a sin
I use my body to move as it wills
Crawling through electrified barbed wire
I have breathed terror in existing
There is violence in me I forget
Violence is lost in a laugh, a smile
It monitors how the camel’s back strains
Once, it was small, insignificant
But now the north in my compass flutters
For I am no longer young nor insignificant
Nor is my violence, forgotten