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Poetry is a violent act
Words polished and honed
With one purpose
To drive deep into your defenses
And, once buried, expand
So that cracks begin to form
So that a hole opens up
Defenses penetrated, these words
Pierce the heart
Or, if well aimed,
The soul
They pierce so deep
Emotions, impulses once buried
Seep out
Like blood
And then
Like a barbed spear
These words rip the hole wider
As the poem ends and they retreat
And nothing but your seeping heart and cracked defenses remain
Except
You find
You are a little bigger