she place a bit of herself within
the it, like a long lasting and agonizing
Tyr. It is assuaged until a small child
no more than ten opens the door
and is engulfed in self-aggrandizing fury
because she hadn't the will
to destroy it.
A valiant demagouge, bathed in golden locks
is the only solution. His majesty shines,
a travesty of convoluted conceits
and over-intellectualized spirituality.
but his fists and blade are still fierce.
He will keep me safe when the door splinters
and my childhood comes crashing back
like waves of discontent and powerless clarity.
The advantage of actualizing (this is a 10 dollar word
for looking) at the face is fear
is knowing you will be eaten and when.
But the real problem
is pointy teeth that can rend flesh thicker than yours.
But they are balked uninvited saviours.