a limit is existant
in every boy and girl,
it may not be consistent,
but they've conquered the whole world.
a kettle can be heated
but it'll always scream and whistle
and a patience that's depleted
can launch a batch of missiles.
for what is fury if not brisk?
we punish, not forgive.
raise our fists, we take the risk.
take revenge, but never give.
and those judged as the soft-hearted
are the victims of despair,
presumed the rightful target,
"no, they're too nice to even care."
call them fools and freaks of nature
while their emotions buckle within.
why, yes, their hearts are made of paper
and yes, they papercut one's skin.
for even those with the brightest smiles
can crack under the pressure
of eerie threats and names so vile,
while they chuckle in mock-pleasure.
since what is there to really enjoy
when you're hated and detested?
and you are bent to come destroy
with the hate that is congested.
a mighty roar unleashed in pain,
the fall of the food cycle,
as with regret, the bullies slain
finally fall out of survival.
YOU ARE READING
It (#Wattys2016)
Poetry| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
