‘Cruelty’ by Lucille Clifton
cruelty. don’t talk to me about cruelty
or what i am capable of.
and i killed them. i took a broom to their country
and smashed and sliced without warning
without stopping and i smiled all the time i was doing it.
it was a holocaust of roaches, bodies,
parts of bodies, red all over the ground.
i didn’t ask their names.
they had no names worth knowing.
now i watch myself whenever i enter a room.
i never know what i might do.
(via kathleenjoy, leprintemps, grammatolatry, partythighs)
