• urica_writes 5w

    MY IRE

    A demon dwells inside of me, or so they say,
    My Ire.
    The ones I love bear my tale but my struggles they never learn.
    I am not a belligerent being even when they say it’s human to be, yet I spit venom when my heart is bruised.
    This is not who I am. This is not who I want to be.
    But even when I carve my form in stealth, hiding from the truant, when I still my mind and pray for calm.
    My ire still pays a visit when I’m poked a little harder.
    She rouses and moves slowly like the motion of a snail but ignites and explodes like gun powder amidst flames.
    She breathes her own life…
    She rages and ruins and hurts, mostly the ones she loves.
    She makes me do things I naturally wouldn’t attempt.
    She is my demon and my vengeance.
    She and I are one, but most days I soothe her inside of me and keep her caged away.
    They tell my tale but know not my struggles. They judge my ire but forget my calm.
    I am a little too much. I bear a little longer; for my vindictiveness, contempt and resentment, grows conscious from a deeper offend.
    I need a miracle. Find me a saviour
    Quench this fury and tame the beastly rage in my head.
    Make a loving and a humble woman out of me everyday
    Even on days my ire comes visiting.
    For my ire is my weakness.
    ©urica_writes