I am not whiskey in a teacup
I am boiling lava in an open crater
Seething under kohl and color make-up
Do not tell me how to carry my burden
When it’s not your soul that is hurting
Do not pretend as if my shoes you have worn
When it was not your innocence torn
Do not preach me your forgiveness and grace
When the scars do not mar your body and face
You carry no right to judge or critique
When you prey on the tired and weak
I am not daisies and lace
I am the beauty in the fractured vase.
I am the reckoning, a force to behold
The consequence of your mistake
I am not whiskey in a teacup
I am a fire bright volcano
Ready to erupt.