If I am not rage, then what am I?

I tried love, trust, patience, empathy

They were accepted out of courtesy

But discarded like an inconvenience

If I am not anger, then what am I?

I tried so very hard, so much time

Just to receive little effort and no time

Just to be abandoned and misled

If I am not anger, nor am I rage itself

Then I am the pain you gave to me

“Are you okay?”

Sweetheart, I write poetry
And some kindhearted people said I write it well
…
That can only mean one thing
My mind is an unescapable hell

“Yeah, just tired”

Imagine having to write
Jesus's autopsy report
You'd be there all week.

They said I’ve changed
That I’m different than I was in September
That they liked her more

Of course they did
She was another dead fish going with the stream
She was scared
She didn’t want to make them upset

She tried to pretend that she was sane
That she was normal

She was sad
All the time
She was trying not to cry

She’s gotten better
Why is that not good enough for you?

The scars are starting to heal
Don’t make me make new ones

I am not a possession
A number
A piece of property

I may be young
But I am a human
I am alive
And I have feelings

Time is valuable
And I refuse to waste mine