Grace is off the table.

I’m taking off my nice smiles and exchanging them for a better price,

Selling them for a hard bargain, melting them into tools I wear with pride.

Thighs scared, elbows bruised, cheeks still bloody but I’m not done.

I’m open to taking another beating, your fists are weightless,

My ego weighs tons.

I’m channelling the boys, increasing the tempo, the values, the voice,

Cooking up the perfect scene, then burying their heads in the voids.

And I don’t take their protests for granted, I fill them with poise.

The moment their act becomes nasty, I turn the volume up

To cut open their toys.