Destroyer | Alice G.
I am a destroyer.
I rip leaves off of trees
and pull grass from the earth.
No object is safe:
I tear apart sheets of paper
bite straws until they are flat
chew on the ends of pencils,
fold the corners of books
shatter mugs with sentimental value.
I cannot help myself:
I feel compelled
to unravel knitting
to pull at the stray threads on skirts.
I stain my clothes instinctively
and in IKEA
I knock down flat-packed furniture like dominoes.
I know plants wither
at my touch
and I wouldn’t be surprised
if that microwave exploded
because I was in the room.
My footsteps have caused
the collapse of buildings,
my laughter
has been linked to natural disasters
and when I last lit a match
the world almost went up in flames.
Can’t you see?
I am telling you this to warn you
not to place yourself in my path.
I might tear your skin off
with my touch
and stop your heart
with my embrace.
My nails are claws
my teeth like fangs
and sometimes I need to pull things apart
just to see what happens.
Please
I don’t want to destroy you too.
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