men don't cry [Poetry]

5

my brother
once dared
to rip the words
off the walls,
season them with salt
and hand serve them to me
on a silver platter.
salted words
on open wounds caused
warm droplets to caress my cheeks
a familiar sensation
his desired reaction

in response,
i plucked the fork
from the platter
and stabbed him
in the face

the size
of the scar
i left on his cheek
pales in comparison
to those
that he left on my heart.
~ retaliation // insmniac