Anger Is An Emotion

 I wrote this while I was angry.

Angry with you.

Angry with me.

Angry.

Livid actually.

Why must you pick at my scabs?

I just got those.

Just really started to heal.

It still hurts, even bleeding if handled incorrectly.

Yet you pick.

Why?

And why do I let you?

Is it the guilt I feel from how I fumbled you?

The shame I feel whenever I have to explain where you are

Even though I never know where you are in the world

I do know that I carry you with me.

Under my breast

On my ribs

Beneath my arm slightly.

You stay there no matter what

So that means the guilt also stays

And the shame

But mostly the anger.

Some days I’m so mad I wanna set things on fire

But that would mean I’d have to start with me

In the mirror, my reflection

I did this

You helped even though you try to diminish your part

You helped

The times I needed you and you left

When I cried and wasn’t held

The times you paid me dust 

But somehow made me returning the favor a cardinal sin

How do you do it?

Walk away after setting me on fire.

I feel my anger boiling over

I want so badly to hate you

But how could I hate me?

For so long you were me

I was you

Two minds, two hearts, one body

When did it change?

Was it my fault?

Was it yours?

Stop picking at my scabs!

Can’t you see it’s not ready

Not ready to fall off

It hasn’t finished its job

I still have open wounds.

I’ve left you to heal your own

That’s what you wanted right?

To be left alone

Or in better company rather

I understand

I’ve taken that road before

Only I got lost and wanted to turn back

Or I just changed my mind

It escapes me now

Because I’m so damn mad

You continue driving

As you should

You always were a better driver

I’m screaming

I’m crying

I can’t even think

I’m so damn angry

And you

Well you just don’t care