mother-father

i think i might always be bitter
be curling leaves of grudges, grievances;
forgiveness is in my nature to a point.
~~(and you're it.)~~

in truth, it's difficult to resist tearing into the flesh of the hand that slaps just as much as it feeds.

and, in the end, what am i now?

where does bloodshed lead us?

the crunch of bone;
satisfying between my molars,
marrow stuck to my gums,
animalistic;
what has it done with me?

frog eats frog eats frog,
and i'm grieving the tree they lived in like a skinned loss.