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She’ll **** Me
When I grew up. I thought that to be respected, I needed to be strong. As hard as nails.
I believed that aggression was my friend, a friend that protected me from men.
Aggression was never a friend, just a women desperate for control. Over time she became a cancer, eating away at my sanity.
She brought chaos and raged storms when she was unsure of what to do.
When she is calm, she draws me detailed pictures of suicide and sings me sweet songs of deceit.
If only setting her free was something I was strong enough to do.
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