Poems With Meaning

Bitter

She cried, and she was bitter. God, she was bitter.

Anger. Hurt. Confusion. Bitterness. Oh, how the bitterness washed over her. Above all those emotions, she was bitter.

Finally, she had managed to free herself of the shackles that bound her in highschool. The shackles of 'friendship' are even stronger when they're fake friends. They drain all her strength, and dull her power so it's just out of reach, like an itch she can't quite reach. Irritating to say the least. But now she had real friends, and true friendship she didn't mind the shackles. They were more like bracelets. They made her stronger, allowed her to reach her power and her full potential. She was free by the binding of these shackles. She was happy. But she was bitter.

She has an inner demon, demanding to be let out, demanding to wreak havoc against those who wronger her. But she bats it down, just. It wasn't really a demon as such, just her bad mood on steroids. At a glance, it'd look and sound just like her. But it would be ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Merciless. The complete opposite of the mask of the girl she showed to the world. People who laughed at her, called her cute an innocent would be wrong. God, they'd be so wrong.

She was sick of the ridicule, the belittling and the abuse. Even though she didn't go to bed every night with bruises or broken bones, it's her insides that were bruised and broken. Her heart. Her trust. She appeared to be a happy-go-lucky girl without a care in the world. But that was a lie, all a lie. She was dark, angry and tortured inside. She was violent. She would give anything to feel the satisfaction of punching so many people who deserved it in the face. She could list them, but it's best she didn't.

She fantasised about death - sometimes hers, sometimes others, depending on her mood. Both would be darkly satisfying in their own way, both with positives and negatives. Which she would be more willing to go through with, she is not sure of. Yet. Ultimately, she knew neither could really be accomplished without a dire consequence. Sometimes she feared she was psychotic, knowing that sitting in a jail cell after murdering people wouldn't bother her. She'd be satisfied. Her darkest desire filled. Of course she knew these thoughts were all heat of the moment, they'd pass once she moved on. But until then, she revelled in the thoughts.

Her true revenge, was being happier than ever without them, and making sure they damn well knew about it.