A probing tongue cannot soften the inescapable insult.

It is sitting there in my mouth

Resting on the tip of my tongue.

Like a poison.


I am afraid that

When I open my mouth

The insult will fly out.

Like a thousand tiny daggers.

And stab someone

Right in the heart.

That insult

Those daggers.

I can’t always control them

They escape when I least expect it.

No matter how hard I fight it.

When the daggers fly

Out of my mouth

Towards your heart.

They stab me too.

My insult hurts me

Almost as much as it hurts you.

-Shawna L Ferguson 2016


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