Your Blade

I call you out for
helping to forge 

this dagger I’ve made
of myself.

I admit my own
role in the making.

I admit to upkeep
upon the edge.

I admit to putting in
long hours learning

to use it. I admit,
I confess, I fully

concur in your
description of my

willingness to
cut and carve. But

this is your time to
say as well that

all the fight in me
would have meant nothing

or indeed might never
have happened if

you hadn’t put me
through fire and beaten me,

tempered and honed
and hilted me, gave me

balance, proved me.
You weaponized me

until I reached
my full potential.

You started me
thinking to end me;  

instead I completed me
and now you stand surprised

at what I’ve become
and what I’ve done.  I am

neither proud nor ashamed
of myself. After all is said,

I am your blade.  
Your cold steel.

How you feel,
on the other hand,

something you ought 
to consider, 

is rightly no concern
of mine.