I bleed.
My fingernails pierce
crescents into my palms.
I am overwhelmed with
the taste of metal.
From my nose,
my tongue,
the inside of my cheek.
My knuckles are split.
But you should see the other guy.
He dances, angry,
up and down,
spraying poison and spit.
I smile,
and my lip splits further,
gravity wanting blood to stain
my shirt and the earth.
He shouldn't have said what he said.
My mother taught me
how to throw punches,
how to defend my honor
and hers.
Which is why a boy stands
in front of me
with a broken nose,
and a bruised ego.
Don't start fights with girls.
The crowd disperses.
He vanishes to lick his wounded pride.
I sit on the pavement,
burn my eyes with the sun,
suck copper from my knuckles.
My teeth are red,
my smile vicious,
my victory sweet.
I bleed, but so does he.
