Pepper (January 20, 2017)

I like to think I don't need pepper spray, because I have enough
pepper and red salt in between my own
fingernails and thighs.

No you don't, he tells me. You're just a girl.
He rips me apart, rams himself inside, shows me
I can't even be in charge of my own body,
so what makes me think I can save anyone else.

He says I smell like pepper, but that doesn't mean I am
strong enough to fight back.
The pepper works itself into my own eyes and blinds me.
But even if my fingers are temporarily numbed,
they will never be like him, they will never tear others apart
for no reason other than brutal force.

He hates every other
body of sweet or spicy light.
All he wants to do is destroy
other's blood, in order to feel
like his body is stronger.

He wants to be the boss of broken body parts,
but some of us will refuse to be his apprentice. 

Some of us have hearts that cannot be easily baked
in this oven. Some of us have hearts that desire 
to rise above all this hate.