scratches

I never forget my strength or its bounds. I have had the kind of life where reminders meet me every day. My weaknesses are with me every waking moment, working their way to the front of the crowd. They keep me company even in this stillness. They probably watch me while I sleep. I do often forget, however, the limits of flesh. How it tears and how it burns. How it weeps and bleeds.

I am blunt and insistent. I seldom explain myself. Even when I can, it doesn't do much to help. I have been weaponized too long, and the process is unstable. Even my tongue is dangerous. Even my silence has teeth. I am tired of talking, tired of being still. I don't have much fight left in me but I am always under matched. My compromises leave bruises. My concessions break bones. I fail and fail, hangdog and downtrodden. Every one I lose to thinks I kicked them all around the yard.

It isn't as if I don't want to ask. It isn't as if I'm not trying to learn. But this is the hour past, this is the wall at my back. I am weary in depths outside measure, weary in places that may not exist. I am ache and I am empty. But I will not relent. Remember that my least touch will scuff and scratch. Even my kiss will leave a mark.