I know that you look at me and you see a young girl / (debatable) /or perhaps a sweet rabbit, / a careful creature with her nose in the grass, / or maybe you see a piece of flesh, / something to be hunted down / and devoured. / though I may appear this way, / in my fragile form, / do no forget, for even a moment, / that I am anything less than a weapon of mass / destruction. / that was a lie, of course. / I am not a war machine. / I am not a cold-blooded killer. / I love too deeply, care too much. / I will not deny the fact that, for you, / I would carry stars around in my back pocket. / for you, I would shift tectonic plates so you could / watch the sunrise in Paris / and the sunset in Reykjavik. / after you have cut my back open, / I would still bring you flowers, asking you if / lilies or peonies would suit your kitchen table better. / after you have twisted the knife beneath my liver, / I would still hold your hand to keep you safe / while we cross the street. / and even after you have pulled my lungs out, / made me into a laboratory experiment, / a gory museum exhibit, / a horrific display of a crime against humanity, / I would sit at your feet and tell you, / “I am sorry.” / I am sorry, in fact. /sorry it took me so long to realize / that I do not deserve this.
