feminine rage

I don't think anyone understands me when I say I'm feminine. I'm not feminine in your soft, glowy, simple mind kind of way . I'm feminine in the smokey bloodshot eyes , mouth dripping blood , "I'll be dead by tomorrow", kind of way.

I am woman when I wipe my tears with the same hand that grips my gun. I am woman while I sit in my bed all day with nothing but a big ugly t-shirt and cute panties , clean skin and drowning in my own thoughts. I am woman when I'm alone and my fingers take all my frustrations away. I am woman while I stare in the mirror and rip my skin to shreds till I'm torn and red. 

This is not a femininity you can enter. My pink nails and painted face are a façade for the caged animal underneath. 

I am not yours to train and own. I will let you believe I am, but just because you put a pink collar on a raged dog, it does not take the blood away from its lips. -B