For Your Love's Better Than Wine

I've been feeling defenseless; you wield your well-forged sentences like a gun, those finely premeditated words hitting me like bullets, hitting the core of every insecurity I ever bared to you.


I can't shape my words to make the sentences that will match yours blow for blow. I lower my head, I take the brunt of your words and let you convince me that I am lowly, rotten, worthless. In my mind you are still the sunshine boy that sat on the grass, smiling shyly in my direction, and I simply cannot push him away.


But I remember that no, I am not defenseless. I may be horrible, worthless, treasonous, but I was never defenseless. I inherited the black rage of my drunken ancestors.


Yes, I used my anger as my only defense; when his words barely brushed my deepest insecurity, my arm rose and slapped him across the face. When the sting of his lazy lies lingered in my ears, the irrational desire to push him to the ground overwhelmed my bloodstream. I stored a notebook full of well-sharpened sentences, ready to use against any person.


How can I blame my mother when she slapped me over and over again, until I was on the ground? We are the same person; where our ancestors' anger with their life's disappointments was cut loose with alcohol, our anger is cut free by our love's vicious words. We share moments when the anger in our bloodstream thunders through us like an earthquake bent on bringing our skeleton down, the anger about to destroy us from the inside.


I carry around my wounds in my chest like a tiny baby, and like a mother's protective rage the violence swells in me, to defend the small inner child in me that will not suffer another harsh word. I can understand, and empathize, I have rationalized why my dad hit my head against the washing machine. But I can't bear the burden of this sadness, this type of defense makes as much sense as nuclear warheads.


So I'll take every bullet you sling me. I won't use the words to cut you down, I won't mimic my ancestors with their penchant for brutality. I will be defenseless, because I would rather feel miserable than carry the weight of our mutually assured destruction.