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Anger
August 24, 2015
I know the anger doesn’t help.
I hate the boiling,
About to explode feeling,
I hate the pressure in my head,
In my eyes,
In my throat.
I hate the too loud breaths,
The physical agitation.
Maybe I could let it go,
I have before.
But then I’m just empty,
Numb in the worst way.
Like a folded up card board box,
Or a flowerless vase
Dusty on a basement shelf.
And I decide,
As I grasp it tighter,
It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling
As long as I am.
© Katherine A., San Antonio, TX
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