The Rhythmic, Blue Cat

Poem Thirty-Nine ♬ - Bitch The Witch

My flame burns low,
Giving only a little glow.
I am disheartened,
Broken.

I know I will return,
I always do, after this kind of turn.
But this time, the bitch won,
And I won't take her a second time, I'm done.

You didn't see it, but I cried,
And after, my eyes always felt fried.
Be honored, bitch.
You are one of few I gave that name to, witch.

I will rise above this petty hate,
But for now, peace is under a heavy, steel grate.
Very few conjure such hate from me,
But right now, I see none more deserving than thee.

"Hang in there," he said.
I believed him, and still do, with my eyes red.
He knew the hate I held,
So for comfort, he gave me those words, not yelled.

The other one, though,
He doesn't do this out of cruelty, I know.
"You'll learn and lead them," he said, not without sympathy,
But as our eye contact broke, my heart cried out a mournful symphony.

"It wasn't your choice," I'll say.
"I just cannot stand her another day."
Relief as wind, ripped from under my wings,
Left me, unbeknownst to him, crashing into many things.

My hate came back, as did my anger and fear,
It came rushing, the only thing I could hear.
Bitch, you witch, I hate you most,
Why can't you just give up your post?

Many more than merely I feel it,
Others, too, have threatened and debated to quit.
It was not only from I that relief was taken,
But another, one who was definitely more shaken.

I will not stand for it, neither will she,
For we crave the feeling to be free.
Free from the bitch who made anger almost natural,
Something I won't stand for anymore, if at all.

I want to hide in a shell I don't have or want,
But what I do have could make you stop your flaunting.
Tomorrow, I will quit this,
With or without the other, to keep my bliss.

Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn,
I will show I will not take this as a hood to don.
I will get better, but not because of you,
As you made many of us feel like poo.

No spirit, over-commanding, and no respect,
This was not what I was to expect.
The two nice ones, both men,
The team would follow them around the state and back again.

But you, none of us would follow you a step or more,
None of us would follow you, not now, not anymore.
Only three remember,
And two were denied the relief of a varsity member.

Out of fury, one of my hands had bled a bit,
But I thought of you as I beat the punching bag, my controlled fit.
Beating with palm and fist, foot and sole,
And now, here I am, out of anguish I will be bold.

I would rather get up at the crack of dawn everyday,
And that's at quarter to five, no small delay.
A year I would do this, just for a few months sanity
But of course, the team's a calamity.

I can't do this one thing, I'm sorry.
But the bitch changes everything, and I will not stand the cruelty.
Skills degraded, hating every single practice,
I am done with this disguised malice.

Two options:
Hear the other's opinions
Or watch the whole team crumble.
It will be nothing but rumble.

A shadow of its former self,
A shame to us, who put our self
Into the game and our spirit,
Which it is just about to quit.

All because some bitch is coach,
But she is no better than a roach.
Time to take down a tyrant,
Who gave us the respect of an ant.

No explanation. Just mad, and furious, and sad.
March 14, 2016.