"She dealt her pretty words like Blades --
How glittering they shone --
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone --
She never deemed -- she hurt --
That -- is not Steel's Affair --
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh --
How ill the Creatures bear --
To Ache is human -- not polite --
The Film upon the eye
Mortality's old Custom --
Just locking up -- to Die."
This is "She dealt her pretty words like blades" by Emily Dickinson. I read this poem back in middle school, and I'm not sure why it has such appeal to me, but it does. Something about it seems bold and passionate, even though, in the end, in speaks of death. The woman in this poem seems to be one of determination and skill.
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