Strike, my child

they say the cruel must necessarily be hurt
that cruelty sources from the child by pain confused

they say there is no evil, only pain
abusers abusing for they are, themselves, abused

they say do not strike back, my child
they say rise above their level, be kind, stay true

they say that god shall punish them
they say they suffer already, far more than you

they say the monsters suffer many pains
already punished by what runs
through their crippled, blackened veins

they say that and I say “Go to hell”
I say fuck all of that poetic shit
I say it’s victims denying what they are
comforting themselves a lil’ bit

you are not their therapist
you are not their bitch
you are not their child or friend or lover
you are, right now, quite simply, prey

they say the happy don’t go around hurting others
and I agree… but who says monsters have to be happy
to deserve to be
pushed back
driven off
struck down

I propose three simple things:
misery doesn’t justify cruelty
it’s not your job to fix their misery
but it is, to stop the cruelty

I say cruelty can exist without the pain
some cruelty happens from trauma
some cruelty happens from necessity
some cruelty happens
because some people simply are… disgusting
there’s no poetry there, some people hurt you just for fun

don’t turn the other cheek, for this is not a story
don’t look on them in pity, for they do not deserve it

in the end, it’s simple.
you, that’s hurt, by them
even if it’s “not their fault”
it is their responsibility
so respond, by best of your ability
the justice that is you

so strike, my child
strike, if they deserve it, strike
some people need to learn a lesson
some people simply are monsters
some people deserve the fate
of a roach
impaled
by the beak
of a shrike
so, strike, my child, just simply, strike

when you see your monsters out of order
your bully bullied
your enemy sleeping
your father crying
your abuser, balled up, frightened in a corner

I tell you this
strike, my child
trust completely in the trust we’ve built
thrust completely, slide the blade down to the hilt
and twist it just a little bit

they say you will become like them — I trust you won’t
they say it won’t feel good — I know it could
they say it will not make them stop — I need you to know
it can

so strike, and see them cower back
their womben, dark abyss

then gaze inside as from the dark, in awkward fear,
they’ll look away
for someone weaker
who won’t strike back
the way you do

—

written: 2020–12–11 Strike, my child