Anonymous

Part of a generation where anonymous hate can harm. A poem on my experience.

You think I don't know who you are?

Hiding behind that screen,
pretending you're someone else,
but you're just a web of lies.

The anon can't hurt me
anymore.
I've grown and you're
just a child,
bound and hurt by
your past.

I feel sorry for you.
You have to hurt someone else
to feel something,
anything.

It's like using a blade.

That sense of relief lasts one minute,
and then it's gone.

Maybe we have more in common,
than I thought.

But you're scared of showing yourself.

I know who I am.