"I know you're having

A hard time with this,

But let me quickly just

Make it worse."

She said sympathetically,

Voice strained and terse.

She was a woman

That smiled as she yelled,

That loved it when you cried,

And said she always knew best.

She picked apart old wounds,

Enjoying the sudden unrest.

This woman's heart

(Or her lack thereof)

Was ice cold and iron-wrought,

Cruel and tough.

She relished causing pain,

But it was never quite enough.

This woman takes no shame

In kicking you while you're down.

She does not regret

Digging her nails into bruises.

She knows that, against her,

Almost everybody loses.

This woman does not

Understand honesty.

She could talk for hours

Without telling a single truth,

She has no problem lying,

If it gives her more "youth".

This woman shouldn't have

Decided to have children.

The breath she exhales

Is toxic, it poisons the air.

If she were to stop breathing,

I don't think I would care.

This woman cannot

Comprehend the fact that

The world is not binary and

Neither are all of her children

And yet after all that she decides to

Paint me as the villain.