You call me a fragile little snowflake
so tender that mere words launched in “jest” would
You think I cry at every little whisper.
Little do you know!
The only thing tender about me are my muscles.
True, they have been clenched
— to keep me from punching you in the throat
because, let’s face it: violence gets us nowhere and
this control takes enormous strength; nerves of steel.
See — your words are not my undoing.
Your actions make me stronger.
I see how easily you show offense
when I call you out.
No, I am not so tender.
I am hard as crystal.