On Female Rage

And so, in the end it was love.

The ceaseless rage, red and hot

Curled in my chest.

Leonene in its quiet, pouncing on

A moment’s notice.

And so hungry.

So I rip him from limb to limb,

Again and again.

He understands nothing of rage nor womanhood.

He is about to.

Then in the end, I don’t regret what I said.

Not the words, not the mirrors

And smoke warning the ways of men.