It hurts. Every battle word, every open wound, every pinch of salt rubbed in, it hurts. More than just a little bit. It hurts in a way that settles in. Deep inside my bones, lays a home for the unknown. A cave battered away, covered in cobwebs that contain, Every ounce of the pain I carry, Every word you've said carelessly. Every day, you've put your problems onto my shoulders, and let me be the holder of, Your fucked up days. Never asking about mine in those times, I'm never a thought in mind. Just a target for you to let off at. And I never thought I'd ever get tired of talking again, But when it's with you I cant help but to hold it in. Lock away every angered feeling, Cry when it becomes too much. Sometimes I just get tired of not being heard. Not being enough. I feel as small as a little bird. I chirp so much, Just to get ignored. And when its time to fly, I get pushed off the ledge, To learn how to soar. And I think a part of me has always known that, so in return I crave more. But when I'm finally on that ledge, the world fades away, And all that is left, "Is A Woman Scorned."