how my hands learned to look like yours how i woke up hiding like you behind circumstance behind telephone behind my own anger to which, i refused to surrender but you boiled famously and furiously and how i learned to cower in your crosshairs--on the surface, fixed solely on me in actuality, fixed on your god your dread your misunderstanding of yourself how easy it remains to miss the underneath how seemingly empowering it is to choose fury over fear not grasping their mutual inexclusivity forgive me for the moment of my analytical departures of my soapboxing i do not mean to test violent Jean