She use to slam doors in fits of rage only to open them to learn nothing ever went away.
She use to be Ciroc because that is all she ever drunk to numb the pain.
She use to take hits and tried to never shed one tear just so she proved she took it like a man.
 She hung up all those things
That when silence became her name she experienced a pain that the cut was so deep the blood wouldn’t stop flowing.
 Her words were so harsh she broke her own heart in tears that she cried for others. 
Every day there seems to be something new that she has to add to the collage of pain that it’s all filled up and talked about in therapeutic ways.
With that same rage, she slammed doors in,
Cîroc became wetter and the hits became nonexistent that standing there in silence didn’t matter at all.