collateral damage

i walk cautiously, tentatively,
pepper spray in hand
ready
to combat violence with violence.
i have been conditioned as such-- i
am a product of conflict, though
i've never experienced
napalm,
armed militias,
revolution.

i wonder
if my imagined attackers
could question themselves:
if the burn of chemical weaponry would cause them
to lose their sense of
entitlement
or if they would just hit the next bitch they saw
harder,
rape more brutally

or if they would pick up a gun
and travel farther
to foreign lands
to live, kill, and maybe die
"for me."

all i can do is
keep my doors locked;
check the peephole at every knock,
suspect everyone and
weather the long night
curled up like cats
with the people i trust today.