You're making me so mad.
You make me so angry, sometimes I feel like I have to cough out my anger.
Like a giant, disgusting, black ball of fur.
But instead of spitting it out, throwing it in your face, it suffocates me.
It's in my throat and it's taking my breath away.
Keeps me from talking.
You're always spitting out your angry, disgusting fur ball. Right away. Throw it at my head. One at a time. Every day.
But I'm just choking on mine.
No matter how much I cough, choke, cry. You'll never get it on your head.
My anger will forever be in my throat, slowly and painfully making it harder for me to breathe.
And it hurts so much.
It hurts so much to feel all this black, dark anger flowing through my veins, like a giant shark in the ocean eating away at all the small, colorful, happy fish.
He's wiping out everything that's floating around. Leaves only red streaks that mix with each wave more and more with the water, making it look even darker than it already is.
But he never comes to the surface. They'll never catch him.
And it hurts so much.
To have to feel all this. How it boils. Like a volcano just before it erupts. Boiling hot. Restless.
On the verge of bringing it all to ruin. To burn and melt all living things.
He makes the earth around him tremble and tremble. Put everyone in a terrible, endless fear.
But he doesn't break out.
Maybe it's the habit that keeps this ball of fur stuck in my neck. I learned to breathe with him. Getting by with the scarce oxygen and surviving.
Maybe it's the fear of meeting this shark one day and being eaten alive, that's why nobody tries to catch it.
Maybe it's the weakness of the volcano. Its power is not enough to spit out the hot mass and make it fly for miles.
My anger, you'll never see it. My suffering will not end.
You'll never get my heavy ball of fur on your head. I'll always feel you coughing it out, spitting right in my face, leaving a mark on me.
You'll never find that giant shark in my wide ocean. All I'll ever feel is your dorsal fin touching my legs as I panic and try to stay on the surface of the water.
You'll never see the ash rain dripping from the sky like thick snowflakes right after my volcano spits its accumulated hot mass on the land around it. But I'll always feel yours on my skin, slowly covering me.
You'll never feel my anger the way I feel yours. Every day.
Because my anger stays trapped inside me. Dark and deserted, in a cell far too cramped with far too little light.
The only way to escape is together, piece by piece, with their little faithful companions.
Which are warm and salty
Running my cheeks down.
YOU ARE READING
Plucky Toughtfullness
PoésieIn the world we live in, thoughts are lost. They're lost because we don't want to think them. Some thoughts are naughty, some are forbidden, some are undesirable. We don't want to think them. We can't. We don't have time. We're not brave enough. So...
