Bitterness, A Shield

when I am bitter, grief is my sword,
I grasp its hilt, convinced it's strength,
it burns, it rages, it roars a chord,
stretching my weakness to greater length

the sting of pain, it cuts so deep,
I wear my fury like iron skin,
for if I’m strong, I’ll never weep—
a protective armour lets nothing in

but as the flames consume the night,
I feel the weight beneath its blaze,
a strength that’s hollow, brittle, tight,
that cracks and falters through the haze

for bitterness is forged in fear,
it shields the wound, but does not heal
true power lies when we draw near
the tender heart we try to seal

so now I see, bitterness fades,
and in its place, a softer hue—
a strength that stands when resentment wanes,
the kind that dares to just be true