The balance of power shifts,
And my mouth is bitter with it.
I don’t want this,
Never asked for it,
Don’t like what it does to me.
I spit it out.
Peace is not keeping a foot,
Firmly on the jugular of who has forfeited the right
To make demands.
Who is in debt of consideration.
Deference is poison,
In a home.
I will pour sweet syrup over it.
Load up mutual respect,
Till the ground is level again.
I will not gloat over weakness,
Allow it to puddle as though it belongs here.
I reject the perception,
That one is able,
And the other must acquiesce.
We do this hand in hand,
Or we don’t do it at all.
Help a ‘starving’ (for followers) author…follow me on my Amazon author page!
Clare Graith 