Never Our Fists, Our Tongue Will Do

— body language by Weddie Thiên  —

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Let's draw us a line in the sand where we stand:

A force is a shove that was never yet planned,

Not asked for, not wanted, no yes and no plea,

That damages your body, or takes what was thee.

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The surgeon may open you, deep as a well,

And that isn't violence — you asked him to delve!

The very same blade and the very same pain,

But consent is the hinge, and it swings the whole chain.

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Now some say that words can be violent too.

So test them that way, and see if it's true.

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And here is the shocker, hold onto your hat:

It's not about blame — well, you knew about that!

But praise! Sugar-frosted, in ribbons and bows,

Is violent too, though it wears finer clothes.

For blame plants a verdict where judgment once grew,

And praise takes your own assessing from you.

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Are we teaching our children to be violent too?

We won’t use our fists, for our tongues will do!

We’ll praise them and blame them, the sweet and the sting,

And we’ll take from our child the most precious of things.

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Recall how it went in the not-long-ago:

A man struck his wife, and the neighbors said so

Was needful and proper, the way to persuade,

Not harmless, mind you, but a price to be paid!

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But why is it hard to just set judgment aside?

Because deep in the bones there's a hunger inside,

Like sugar and salt and the fat and the oil,

That once meant survival, and now bring us spoil.

A shot of quick sweetness when praise sings our name!

A shot of quick pleasure when we hand out the blame!

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And here's the strange bargain, so listen up close:

The grown-up collects on the sweetest of dose,

The bill arrives later, and paid by the kid,

In a coin the adult never sees that they did.

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And most all the world will stand up and agree,

The parents, the teachers, the Ph.D.s,

A child must be raised to know Good and the Bad,

Or else, so we're told, they'll turn out a cad.
 

Now picture a parent — it's ghastly, I know —

Who drugs up a child to make obedience grow:

A hit for behaving, a cutting-off if not!

Indeed that is violence, so blazingly hot.

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For a child comes to earth with a bushel of gold:

With wonder and wildness and asking out bold,

With crying and curious, silly and free,

With dancing and daring and sovereignty,

With boundaries, belonging, and rapturous glow,

And forever-dawn mornings all shiny as snow.

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That drug would be quicker than this slow, quiet way

That works with the tongue for ten years — and none say.

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Are we teaching our children to be violent too?

We won’t use our fists, for our tongues will do!

We’ll praise them and blame them, the sweet and the sting,

And we’ll take from our child the most precious of things.

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And here is the hook that will hold to the end:

Though the verdict moves inward, it's still not your friend.

Self-blame wears the costume of being your own,

But the judges are imported, the courtroom's on loan.

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So weigh it! Just weigh what you’ve never weighed:

The cost and the benefit, blade against blade.

Then choose it or leave it, but choose with YOUR eyes,

And you’ll reap the treasures you’re born with, you’ll fly!