Pickled Smiles and Other Poems

Rage: Blooming

In a meadow stark dark
Under a twisted dead tree
Grows a bloody red rose
The rage inside me.

Thorns line its pedals
Poison on the tips
Twists and maims everything
Onto which it drips.

Feeding on the meadow
with roots of rabid worms.

Twisted logic for a mind
and a demon for a soul
Ever fights a battle
With my self-control.

Note: I wrote this over thirty years ago while in counseling for some pretty serious self-destructive tendencies and part of it was expressing feelings no matter how wrong they were. I'm much, much better now, but since others have said this poem actually helped them to start to deal with the pain behind their rage, I think it's important to share, along with the previous poem. If you can relate, please get counseling, but make sure it's helpful.