Confrontation is an art form that I have yet to master.
To me, matters of the heart were never easy.
Eloquence and anger never mixed to me, and I'm not a woman of words.
If anger could be sent in an email, or written on a postcard, our delicately folded in a letter with the distinct shades smeared from my lips upon it, than I'd be the poet laureate of all confrontation.
Debaters would idolize me. Lawyers would become hypnotized with my negotiations, and all eyes would gaze as I speak.