by Cynthia Ruth Lewis
I wasn't born this way.
I didn't come out of a box like this.
My bitterness
has been many years in the making
and, I'd say, par for the fucking course
Just because the majority of my poems
are bitter, twisted and dark
doesn't mean I'm just a surly, pessimistic fuck
with nothing better to do
I used to be nice
I used to be trusting, sweet and vulnerable
until I gave my heart away too many times
to the wrong men,
the kind that ate women like me for dinner
men I used to believe would love and protect me,
assure me of my beauty and worth,
save me, resurrect me
but all I got was defiled and lied to
and taken for rides
until I no longer even recalled
what I'd been searching for in the first place
It didn't take me long
to find all the darkness, greed and ugliness
lurking behind their smiles
beyond their groping hands
and within their vicious thrusts,
corrupting my self-respect
raping my faith
and crushing my soul
until the day I rose out of my own ashes
and called things as I saw fit;
spat it back in their faces
and made them see the real me
made them understood
how far their actions and lies had gone
This is one pot who's not afraid
to call the kettle black,
one who's finally learned to view
their 'good intentions' through the eyes of scorn...
Lord knows I've never been one
to wear my heart on my sleeve,
but hang mine out enough times to dry,
and I'll make you wish I was never born
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