Phobia: Edge Me

Suffrage

There was anger
In her movements
An unnatural masculinity
Thicker than the strands of her hair

What she touched burned
Crimson lightning. Sharply.
In her movements
There was anger

The paltry possessions she owned
They were nonexistent
So, left with nothing
She walked
Nude
Bared to a world with no courage
There was anger in her movements

And once this world drove her
To wits end--
She bared her fangs to the mirror
And watched as they grew
It was exotic.

She became angel faced
Blood fizzy like champagne
But was no longer beautiful
Because she buried her anger

And was capitulating instead.