Poem No. 38: Weapons

mollycatlos
Mar 23
1 min read

We carry each other's secrets

Like illegal weapons

Hidden in our jacket pockets

Close to our hearts

And into the backs of belt loops

Close to our most private of parts.

Our cold, metal protections are always loaded

With bullets made of confessions,

A clip filled with jealousy,

And a gun powder residue mixed with resentment

That we can never rub off,

Marking one of us guilty.

I know if my gun were exposed

You'd quietly untuck the back of my shirt —

But more to protect yourself

Than to touch the small of my back again.

Pull the trigger already.

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