Oxymoronic Ire

-I found this poem in a notebook I used when I was twelve (I start writing in a different notebook every birthday).  I believe I wrote it when my first boyfriend cheated on me, or perhaps I was mad at my mom.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t started dating my writing yet so I may never know. The only revisions were made in the poem’s formatting.  I might have been a tad melodramatic in my pre-teen years.  What girl isn’t?

My eyes are dry

There is nothing left to cry

All my emotions

Are now expressed as oceans

With ten foot tall waves

That fill up my days

My rage

Has long since

Broken it’s cage

My empty book

Is on it’s last page

My heart is an empty chamber

Empty

Yet filled by anger

My everlasting ire

A dying fire

My eyes are dry

There is nothing left to cry