I turn, listen,
to the words
to the chatter
of an extrovert.

I hear them talk
with intensity
about honesty
and speaking their mind.

I am frustrated
by their dualism,
their simplification,
of social interaction.

I feel they are
filled with words,
with opinions,
but without soul.

I remember people
who hurt with their words,
who cut with their voice
and excused themselves as being honest.

What happened to the poets
who measured their words,
measured their actions
like bakers seeking soufflés?

What happened to the warriors
whose actions matched,
whose words matched
the dance on the blade’s edge?

Instead I see brutes
who bludgeon with the truth,
who bludgeoned the truth
with their “honesty.”

Instead I see butchers
who see grace,
who see beauty
in thoughtless words.

I am a poet, a warrior,
and a brutal butcher
who chooses every day
with every thought,
with every breath
who I will be.

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