Temper

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The most painful thing ever said to me was

"You have your father's temper."

Of all things to inherit from my father,

I did not want his temper.


The permanent rage that lived inside him,

Constantly bubbling over like hot magma

Hardening over his heart,

The only thing able to break through is his fury.


I did not want that,

I despised the possibility of even having it.

I refused to have my heart harden.

But it was too late.

I did have a temper,

But it did not belong to my father.


Growing up around my father's rage

Burned a hole inside me where a volcano formed.

Its hatred and anger did not act like my father's,

It did not yearn to scorch the world and its inhabitants.

It just wanted to burn him.


My heart had not become stone,

Only that part that looked up to him,

That loved him,

Had hardened and eroded away.


So yes, I have a temper,

But not my father's.

It is entirely my own.

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