I have killed.
I’m sure to do it again.
I was breast-fed till I was 18.
It’s my mother’s fault.
I replay vividly my grandmother’s death.
Each morning. It rouses me.
In my quiet room, I plan the rape and slaughter
of thousands, near and far.
When I was a child,
the sound of our dog yelping at the window,
as we left for family outings …
… well, I could not but burst into tears.
It has never occurred to me that I truly exist -
- not until days ago.
I am willing to believe it may be true.
read all 12 Poems Of Joy