A fire burns in my throat that can not escape,
my restraining tongue and lips bind it.
they should be grateful for this tongue of mine,
for if the fire escaped,
they would no longer be laughing.
For my fire is one of vengeance,
a searing whip; that on it,
has the broken shards of a soul.
They would feel the backlash of their taunts,
their stereotypes,
and their prejudice,
along with their own scorn.
But I hold my tongue,
creating the illusion that I am naïve,
a timid bird with shut wings;
I am something different though.
I am the feeling of exuberance,
of hard won independence,
a roaring beast thats magnificent wings
are aflame.
Aflame with the sweet knowledge of truth.
sparking with the truth that justice exists,
and tables can turn.
Lucky for them,
my phoenix of revenge
lays smoldering in the dark.