Thoughts, Emotions, Change

Anxious Aggression

I'm not a writer.

I don't write poems.

I have social anxiety showing someone my words.

I am a fighter.

Rather speaking instead of writing my thoughts and emotions, my emotions turn into aggression and from aggression they transform into monsters, controlling and biting till my brain forms, and off my tongue they slip and fall onto a poor unsuspecting fool.

Not even a fighter or a writer, I am an aggressor who cannot stand the world.

But the aggression doesn't start first.

Built on the death of a friend, loss has never been easy; always on edge and second guessing everything, the world has not been kind but neither have I, so with every threat it is fight or fly.

Sadness is what leads to aggression.

Thoughts loud enough, the tip of a razor or cliff sharp enough, the sadness hurts but anger stings more, powerful to keep a broken shell together, but too strong to make her better. Drops of tears form a river, but the river is too wide to cross and in fear of drowning, just stops.

Paused like a TV. The remote is broken, too.

So, from sadness to aggression, from the idea of a blade to the sight of what lies at the bottom of the cliff, I am not a writer and barely a fighter; I am just sad enough to be angry, but if anything I am just angry at myself.