Anger
I pointedly ignore you,
grinding my teeth and
cracking my knuckles.
My shallow breath comes ragged.
Salty traitors
stain my face with smeared mascara.
Maybe I hang up on you.
Maybe I scream.
I beat up my punching bag,
forcefully,
controlled.
I smoke and smoke and smoke.
Maybe I use “I” statements.
Maybe I’m able to tell you
how I really feel,
set boundaries, limits,
get my point across.
Maybe you even see
my point of view.
I workout, dance
my cute little ass off,
listening to loud angry punk.
I release energy with every motion,
every movement.
I write and write and write.
Sometimes I’m even able to write a couple poems.
Some are decent, some
even good.
I call friends,
vent, dissect, analyze.
Eventually I feel a bit freer and
my voice is heard.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
