Hand me my hammer,
for I will force this to pieces.
Watch as I swing my scalpel,
for I will cut them down to nothing,
and then call it all the Truth.
I will break apart what was good with my questions,
for I want to see what's underneath.
There's no malice in these tools,
but even the young can cut by mistake,
once handed an unknown sword.
And I know my blades by name,
their weights a comfort in hand.
Why does everyone grow cautious
when they idle in palm,
barely at full potential?
Because I lack rivalry
in speech, in trading blows,
in what I see as essential
as human, and underused
by myself.
So draw your tongue,
I want fair defeat.
And from it's crossing blow,
enlightening.
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