It's frightening

How easily

Cruelty comes to me.

Like a Spartan Hoplite's

Raised shield reflex,

I settle in my place.

In my phalanx of frustration

At my own inadequacies.

The spearhead of sharpened words

Chosen to find the loose stitching,

In the links of another's chainmail,

Mounted on a solid shaft of anger.

But I am learning slowly,

To whittle down that shaft

Until it is a cocktail stick.

A match.

So I can Ignite the phosphorous,

Drop it on the flames of hate,

Choking away its oxygen.