As She Pleases

behind locked doors

a little girl sits,

words rolling from her tongue like bullets.

"princess," they tell her, "your words should be gentle.

like the petals of a summer rose,

or a ripple in the pond."

she scoffs.

"the thorns of roses leave scars,

and the pond drowns children.

nature births temporary beings, not gentle ones.

come winter neither will see the day."

I will speak loudly-

each word a bullet.

permanant.

unforgettable.

... lethal.