All these people telling me not to be angry
Exhorting me to forgive, in their own poison: "Forget all about wrongs and enable those old patterns,
Eschew setting healthy boundaries or forgiveness is not valid!
It's for your own sake: Don't you know unforgiveness makes you bitter?"
So what if I am? Maybe then no one else will
Take a bite out of me, no one else will
Gnash their teeth, commending my sweetness or savoring my spice
Bitterness evolved as a protection
And I've known so many bitter women
Who've had people tear into them once too often, people
Expecting a taffy response to their vitriol: sweet, soft, mild. But I am not your recipe.
Not made of sugar and spice and everything nice, not a little girl.
I'm made of chilies, paprika, raw cacao, cinnamon and chicory,
Limes and lemons and kumquats, and if I choose
Honeyed words to bind my intentions, or serve you tea
Or dish out mercy, that is mine. Your power is alone in choosing how you approach the table.