a factory of girls with swords on tongue-tips
fingernail arrows. electrocution
in their left-chest hollows
maybe this is balance. balance out
spiteful boys i’ve never encountered
because we are not each other’s victims.
you can’t fight fire with fire. they stalk
with clenched fists i guess,
and more movement less swift.
cull out the defenceless other for own benefit,
for each other, do us all a favour, they are the unarmed
they only have hearts. all their possessions
singular, abstract. flimsy
house of cards. with eyes, and loving, not sharp