Untitled Rage

I am filled with a red, blistering rage. A roiling, boiling, blistering rage-ocean steaming and churning in the unfettered tides of my shifting moods and ever-increasing fury. I want to riot. I want to shake the world. I want to scream and punch and bite and claw until there is no more injustice in this beautiful, horrible world. My rage is unending. It is for many things. But most of all it is:

For any little girl who was murdered long ago and then forced to continue on with life.

For anyone who has had to swallow what they have desperately needed to scream out.

For any child who was forced to cope by locking themselves far away and creating a falseness to fool the world with.

For any little girl who fought as hard as she could, and for every little child who knew it was best never to fight at all.

Reviews

[Micaelia]

This is... just beautiful, and so true, so genuine and sincere that I can't but apologize for what you must habe gone through.
I'd be really glad if you continued this someday, or made this a series of poems covering other emotions in a similar pattern - grief, hurt, etc.

Thank you, thank you so, so much.

[Gaia Octavia]

Thank you ☺ A lot of my poems are me working through my PTSD. I am glad you feel so strongly towards one. That is a great feeling.