If I am not rage, then what am I?

I tried love, trust, patience, empathy

They were accepted out of courtesy

But discarded like an inconvenience

If I am not anger, then what am I?

I tried so very hard, so much time

Just to receive little effort and no time

Just to be abandoned and misled

If I am not anger, nor am I rage itself

Then I am the pain you gave to me

Those soft, delicate hands of yours

That once held me with such love and care

Wrapped me with such warmth and safety

That felt small and fragile when held by me

Those slender fingers fitting perfectly in mine

Tracing my face and lips with eagerness

Tapping me to wake up for a morning kiss

Caressing me for our nightly love

Those soft, delicate hands of yours

I can still feel them after all this time

Wishing that I held them a bit longer

The love I had for you

Made the Gods jealous

But the pain you gave me

Made the Devil laugh

You didn't just break my heart
You broke the future I was working for
You broke the dreams that I always had
You took away the hopes and smiles I had
You took away the sweat and tears I shed
You robbed me from knowing love
You robbed me from knowing closure
You destroyed my sense of self
You destroyed my motivations
You didn't just break my heart
You broke everything that was me

I once called you
My most beautiful flower
The way you bloomed
Thriving with life and color
Twisting and spreading
But like all plants
They needed to survive
My heart was your soil
You took what you need
Until my love was drained
You died in my arms
And those thorns scarred me
I kept watering you desperately
But my tears weren't enough
Did you leave a seed for me
A bit of hope to bloom again
Or was this the last season
You grew with me

You drew me as the villain of your story
Brushing over my lines of kindness
Blotting out the colors with ugly spots
You threw away my features and corners
Replaced them with shades of animosity
My image at the mercy of your delicate hands
Painting me as you wish, inking lies of me
But no matter what techniques you used
What combination of colors or strokes
Or whatever tools you used to sculpt
Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder
But truth is absolute and everlasting
Go on and show off your work to the world
Be proud of the storytelling of your canvas
But you and I both know, beneath the paper
You once called this villain your loving muse
And I once called you my wonderful maker