when anger radiates off the skin,
the face is mum and passive—
knuckles white and ears scarlet
become the language, self-destructive.
when sadness rolls off in waves
from my eyes to behind yours,
you'll see the tears that blur my vision.
every burden then start to pour.
i am shaking, my being in tremors.
exuberance flows, then dread, disappointment.
your voice become its own noise—
it cracks my skull, a ringing in my head.
when you killed me, i died;
the flowers of may still sing.
when you killed me, i lived;
the storms of november still weep.
what if i took the things i deserved?
from your hands to mine.
return the things you took from me,
of all the things, give me back my eye.
but my eye isn't the only eye that watches,
an angrier witness still oversees.
and as i embody the pain and the choices you made,
i smile in sadness for the vengeance i cannot take.
