There is something to be said
For the way anger feels
As it makes the blood course faster
Through her veins.
She wants to know why,
Why they had to pick her.
Can’t they tell?
She seethes at the idea that they do not.
Couldn’t they have chosen
Some random, useless girl
Instead of her?
Precious, precious her.
When she finds out who they are,
After all, they were so careless,
They don’t stand a chance
Not a chance in hell, of surviving.
She takes what has been taken.
She does so gleefully,
Ripping and tearing and grinning
And letting out all that anger.
Originally appeared in the 2013-2014 edition of Outside In