She Hides It Well
But now it’s time to confess

Within the deepest crevasse of her beating, bloody heart lives a dark pit of rage,
Blackened and throbbing,
It thrums upon the very definition of her life,
Loud screams echo through every waking hour,
Hidden behind the innocence of her smile.
**
Quietly unspoken; loudly exhaled throughout her worst nightmares,
It lays cursing the betrayals behind its dark beat,
Dreams of the sweetest revenge,
Begs for the end of life to visit her tormenter,
As she stands witness at every betrayal.
**
Tears of raw agony drench her wisened old soul,
As she patiently waits,
Her hopes secreted away from prying eyes,
Alive in her thoughts; fantasy begging her relief,
While her rage consistently explodes.
**
Forgetfulness is not within her reach, not that she would wish for it,
Every throb of darkness a welcome reminder,
Her silent screams ricocheting the walls of her past, present and future,
Setting the tones of her courage to ward her of her despondency,
As she honours their judgement day.
**
The night is nearing!
Her fantasy escalates, giddily racing towards the end,
Hidden from view; a destiny she inherited,
One that no longer has room for shame, guilt or further pretending,
Only acceptance of the shadow that lives within.
**
The world was never ready to wear her thoughts,
Too innocent to bare witness to who she was tortured to become,
She’s secretly unworthy,
Not nearly the sweetness her mask forever portrays,
For she plots the destruction of the greatest evil that once beat her into submission.
**
The darkness grows, the time is nigh,
Her greatest ‘fuck you’ overshadows her once decent perception,
She holds tightly to the reins, knowing the future will rip them to the winds,
Releasing the vengeance brewing within,
A cyclonic mass of perfect retribution spewing from the void,
At which time all will witness her joy!
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.



Comments (3)
Being indecent shall never make you unworthy, my friend.
I wanted to say that she's so fierce and badass! But Kendall comment kinda confused me. This poem is about your mom?
Mom?