flames of fury and blocks of ice
My anger has me in a chokehold.
Maybe it's because I've been suppressing it.
Because people call it 'behavioural issues'.
A barbed wire wrapped around my heart.
What don't you understand?
When I tell you,
"Leave.
Me.
Alone."
What don't you understand?
When I shove my headphones in,
Closing my eyes,
Breathing
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Refraining, restraining, resisting
The urge to scream
To roar
To snap
At
Everyone.
Everything.
Everywhere.
I am a silent fumer,
Not a loud flame.
Not an angry crier.
A cold rage.
A silent storm.
Brooding.
Brooding.
Brooding.
Like a morally grey anti-hero.
A small headache
growing
growing
growing,
until it's all consuming,
until it's the only thing that keeps me anchored.
I don't care for affection.
I don't care for sappy feelings.
Being angry is like breathing for the first time.
- bettydorotheamarjorie -
YOU ARE READING
a letter made from ashes
PoetryThis is a collection of my innermost knife cutting thoughts, my deepest insecurities, my heartbreak, things that I have thought about but never dared say out loud. Things that would normally go in a burn book, things that might hit a chord in you, o...
