[14] - monday's child.

「 femme folle. 」

mad woman, ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ, 02.35

i get angry too easily.

it flickers, wavers, and shudders,

then roars into life, terrifyingly;

i carry the silent rage of my foremothers.

it consumes me like how fire

burns castles to the ground.

i've been called a slut, a liar;

when i retaliate, they hate the sound.

innocent vixen, loyal virgin,

played like a polished violin.

speak not; women must only be seen,

only beautiful until they are depicted as sin.

they'll push and push me till the very edge,

then blame and frame me for stupidly trying.

flame spills out me, bloody burning red,

but society douses my fire as if i am nothing.

i scream so loud, but i am never heard;

muted by expectation and reputation.

enraged tears spill 'til my vision's blurred,

i feel and carry even after the dust fades;

apparently, i'm too complex for interpretation.

do you apologise only for the sake of image?

people have forgotten

that respect is earned;

one burden heavy as wet cotton,

is knowing how lessons never stay learned.

but there's nothing i can do;

she can never be set free.

but really, can you blame me,

for getting angry too easily?