"You can fuck off," she replies in defence.
Her eyes shrink my smile with icy disdain.
Battered and armoured from constant offence,
From vicious assaults - a lifetime of pain.

I'm now included in all that's not right.
Another shithead from the ranks of men,
A sullen bruiser that knocks out your light,
Careless intruder who wounds you again?

There's no space to mend your hurt and disgust,
Or pause and quietly open a gate
To gardens where kindly, soft-hearted trust
Might blossom, diverting quickness to hate.

I’ll walk away from this abject request.
Lost, and leaving my concern unexpressed.

[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]

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