I wish to decorate myself in frills and lace,
polish my hair with pearls instead of the cold hard steel
of a well hidden dagger.

I wish to feel the warm hands of a downy coat
without the cold glint of silver that must be sheathed underneath.

I wish to welcome the hands of a lover
without it feeling like a snare around my neck,
without wanting to gnash my teeth and unfurl my claws,
like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a bear.

I wish to bare my soul,
my heart,
without the protection of barbed wire and salt.

I wish to be soft,

But sharpness is all I know.

Because some time ago I learned that I was too swallowable,
that I was too tolerable,
for those with greedy hands and even greedier mouths.
My skin was too easily plucked apart,
my soul too easily washed down along with my blood and tears--
purity like wine to predators,

Some time ago I learned that I was too vulnerable,
that the world was filled with monsters
hiding underneath supple skin and lazy smiles,
that the softness of their hands would always be betrayed
by the sharp bite of poison they kept within hidden fangs.

I learned I was too soft,
too puncturable.

So I replaced my bones with cold hard iron,
and I learned to conceal my fragility
underneath layers of spite and sneers and venom and ice.

I learned to keep my finger on the trigger
of a perpetually loaded gun.
And though I am safe,
I do not feel like I've won.