Word of the 'week':

Sarcasm

We bite the hand that feeds us

It hurts to hear you cry and to not be there with you
I hate to make you cry
My words are unleashed, vicious, second-hand
They've passed through me- a strainer
But they're still starchy and when they hit you they sting

I'm sorry I'm so afraid

I had no idea I had been this wounded

I'm like a hunting trap, ready to spring shut
on you
while you approach me with intention
Not to break me, but to disarm me...even if it means letting my jaw bite

And then, after you've pulled my clenched teeth apart,

I'll smile at you.

Because that's a lot nicer than biting.