The Wrong Target

Where do you place your blame

- if not on me?

Every breath is a crime punishable by death,

every blink gives you time to fabricate a new fault.

My bones are lined with cracks and glue

from your hammer of put downs, guilting, and screams,

but I’m beginning to see you’re the one that’s weak

preying on a love that doesn’t move;

for truly, if you loosed your arrows and I wasn’t there,

you’d have shot yourself.