Blast

When we destroyed each other,

it was deliberate.

We blew away the pieces that hurt the most.

You shone the light on my insecure,

on my vindictive.

And I pulled your mean and your ignorance out of the shadows.

With words as bayonets,

We aimed at each other and played chicken.

            Neither of us were chicken.

And we fired.

Several rounds.

Our ammunition was crafted by the

observations we put aside,

because they were not as pretty.

We pulled those premature ideas                    from the backs of our minds

and made men out of them.

Only to put them on the front lines.

As the self-made general,

you made it your duty

to take down all my men.

You took my insecurities

and brandished them before me.

I blocked them with the traumas of your past

Our targets were the stories we’d shared

in a “safe” space,

now exploited.

Because you are worse than me.

Because I needed to show you

that you were worse than me.

Isn’t that also called

putting someone on blast?