The Fable

The boy spits out his words slicing me with each flick of his tongue 

Each puff of breath pushes me further and farther 

I feel my ribcage expand on the intake, My back straight up high 

And I draw out my own sword 

And stab him right back 

Hand juts, arm surges

Battle stare

Attack

That is what I would do if he ever poked at me again 

Instead that day 

his friend stood beside 

While the boy threw rocks

Threw a chuckle on a lunge 

that emerged deep from his belly

I hadn’t realized my pain could be 

funny 

I didn’t know any better

Like the frog

I took his word for it 

Ready to climb on his back 

But in the end got stung for it 

-Annette

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