I am mad. I am mad that I still can't seem to find peace. I am mad that the first man I ever entrusted with my innocence was a no show. I am mad at myself for holding on to that bitterness for far too long. I am mad because it was in my nature to give. I am mad at the world for showing me that to do so was a mistake. I am mad at the instability that wasn't able to nurture me. I am mad at the toxic masculinity that has made my physical appearance the sum of being. I am mad at the women who did the same. I am mad that my sexuality alone is a topic of discussion. I am mad at the pretense. I am mad at the deception. I am mad that my psychology left me with a deficit. I am mad that I have to try that much harder. I am mad that my voice wasn't louder. I am mad that being authentic can be an offense. I am mad at the misconceptions about success. I am mad at the snakes and ladders in the wilderness. I am mad that love is a commodity. I am mad that love is disposable. I am mad at