Musings on Life from a Dead Girl
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    My Anger

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    My anger is not destructive or violent.
    I do not lust to break things or hurts others.
    My anger is not loud.
    I do not yell and scream or lash out.
    My anger is not hot like lava, and free lowling.
    Bubbling just under the surface.
    No.
    My anger is tightly locked-up.
    Strictly concealed and caged.
    In a prison so secure it has long since lost it's address.
    No that's not the way my anger feels.
    It's cold like fresh terror.
    It is consuming like a roaring fire.
    Slow-moving like cool molasses.
    It is the tightest hug.
    Crushing and too close.
    I have to keep it locked away; I can't let it get out.
    Because the fallout is all too familiar, and I can never be like him.
    No, my anger is not big and boastful.
    It is not prideful or pious.
    It was formed in secret.
    Under the cloak of darkness that now takes up space in my heart.
    Born of crushed dreams, hushed secrets, and hurtful words.
    My anger is made from the faces of those that failed me.
    The scars I carry and the words I am not brave enough to say aloud.
    I am angry.
    But I am ashamed.
    To call me angry would be to call me a hypocrite, but I don't care.
    My anger makes me flighty.
    One wrong word and my walls are up.
    It drives me out of this house.
    Out of this town and out of this life.
    One day I'll be gone, like the mantis that once sat on my window.
    Sheltering from the storm, only to disappear into the sunshine.
    My anger is at war with my compassion.
    She will give second and third chances when my anger has long since given up.
    But today compassion has too.
    I will let anger win.
    My anger is not showy, or tawdry.
    It does not seek revenge.
    It is the dark knight riding in after everything has been lost.
    Coming home to sort through the wreckage and move on with the survivors in toe.
    My anger is quiet detachment.
    I will love you different, but never less.
    I will separate my heart and one day I will go.
    My anger has finally made me see logic.
    I can't change them.
    My anger feels a lot like regret.
    My anger feels a lot like grief.
    My anger.
    My anger.
    Maybe my anger isn't really anger at all.
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