People fish for my anger.
Push and push for reaction.
But I bite my tongue and bottle the frustration.
People fish for substance.
Get something concrete from me.
But I bite my lip and bottle the anger.
People fish for words.
Words I want unspoken.
Eventually they rise.
And then I yell.
My bottle has over flown.
In form of tears.
And blood.
From the bites on my fingers.
And once all is done.
My bottle is empty.
Until I have to bite again.
YOU ARE READING
Wandering Words
PoetryMy waking thoughts. Also Happy Birthday to a great friend today. ********** A record of some of the thoughts I have. =3 in spoken word poem-y format of course.
