The Ink was spilt

I’ve missed writing.  
 
I miss the way the words flow from my mind into the ink on the page.
Some days I feel like I’m just another actor on this stage.
 
The stage that we call life.  
Some of us were taught to be kind,  
others were raised to carry a knife.
 
As if they’re sending us into battle.
Kindness is a nice gift but it doesn’t protect me from harm.  
What do I do when someone is grabs my arm?
Say please let go?
Sometimes I feel like I can’t stand on my own.  
 
He’s tall and bulky.
Look at me.  
I’m short and stout.
You Cut me down once and now I’m letting it out.  
 
You won’t get away, without some kind of blame.
Cutting me down and slandering my name.  
 
I hate to Burst your bubble,  
But you got yourself into trouble.
When you screamed in my face at my job, a place where I’m respected!  
It’s your own fault that this was expected, of you.  
You did this the first time we met you.  
 
The worst part is I stuck up for you to get your job back,  
because I believe in second chances.  
First day back and you already made advances.
Not under any circumstances.
Will I ever give you an opportunity to take my power again.  
You may have gotten the last words,
but you're not going towin.