I was taught to use words as bullets.
To bark, an attack dog on a leash.
To dip my knife in wine
and to bury it up to the hilt,
To shoot dark arrows without killing,
just deep enough to consider an exit wound.
To step on the heels of men
and the skirts of women.
My tongue was forged a double edged-sword,
one side bitter, the other sour.
I was brought up in a civil war with myself,
knowing that if I didn’t keep my arsenal full
I was set to lose
I was taught that phrases were only made
of bullets loaded into rifles.
Screaming was the ammo leaving the chamber,
sighing, the smoke left behind,
whispering, the recoil.
Sara Cols is a 16 year-old pansexual poet currently residing in Barcelona. Sara shares a poetry blog with her friend Sarah Benchimol called Prose For The Panties (http://www.proseforthepanties.tumblr.com) and is currently coming up with new poetry. Feminism has helped Sara overcome serious issues of degradation because of her ethnicity and gender, which makes her grateful and very appreciative of the movement.