My schoolyard bullies
taught to spit out bloody teeth insults.
Collect them in my palm
and store them in my back pocket.
These words wouldn’t be sold
to the nearest tooth fairy,
but strung into a necklace.
Let the sarcasm rattle from mouth
as showing the world swagger
of upturned glares
and rolled up fists.
Fighting words clang in throat
like loose nuts and rusted bolts.
Gather them there.
So when classmates pressed against skin
with sweaty palms and snap jaws
pushing me into battle marks,
I knew how to spit twisted metal
to sting at my bullies’ chalk outline egos,
before they plucked at my baby teeth.
Yanking my childhood with the force
balled up hands and skinned knees,
I understood the gravity the cruelty
as my first playground lesson.
Poetic Trials 