I’m sick and tired of this wounded tiger ruining my life
in pain ready to strike back, fangs extended, snarling
at every perceived cut, stone throwing, maybe a spear
sent in the form of a look. The tiger crouches
ready to attack, enough of this nonsense.
Wounds carried as trophies –
retract your claws –
and get out of my life
take your pain with you,
because you don’t belong
I know who I am now.
Poetry © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
THANKS, Nico! This is fabulous, even for a non-poet like me! This gets through.