She learned from a young age that
Rage,
Anger,
Defiance,
Meant nothing.
Not to her
Nor to others.
So she kept silent
As silent as the sun can
When she's raging in the vacuum of space.
Her eyes would ***** with tears
And her jaw would clench in frustration.
But she'd rather stare into hell and cut off her tongue before it meant anything.
She is a patient woman they say,
She is a proper lady
She is as passive as a flower
And as kind as sunlight after a thunderstorm.
She is a balm to the suffering and to the evil.
She is God's child.
But
I have thorns
I can burn you
I can drown you

She has a child’s temper
In a woman’s body.
She weeps alone,
Rages alone,
Starves alone.
She quietens her struggle
And pretends she is only marble.
Grief is an option
And
Anger is a choice.
She chooses neither
So she feels nothing.

How she would like to
Yell and scream!
How she would like to hurt,
To let go
And hold on selfishly to her happiness.
Freedom is an option too.
She does not choose it.