Growing Pains

by Cynthia Ruth Lewis 

I've been writing so many angry poems

about you lately, that the whole world

probably thinks I'm nothing but a

bitter, spiteful bitch

and I don't blame them

but they weren't there;

they weren't in my shoes

they weren't subjected to the likes of you

and I hope they never are

assholes like you ought to come

with a warning label,

instead of subtly enticing clueless women

to swallow your twisted bullshit,

until they're almost as low as you are

so excuse me while I rant

and get it all off my chest

and beat the living crap out of objects

with a baseball bat,

working off the frustration

while trying to repress the hurt,

wishing I could have experienced

only the best of relationships,

but realizing true growth

comes from the worst