Anger

I was a fiery, temperamental child

The kind who spoke her mind readily when angry
So consumed my her anger that she cried with it

And her words came out in short staccato bursts

Filled with hurt, pain and impatience

With time and enough reprimands by parents and well meaning relatives

I learnt to channel this anger inwards, waiting for it to cool

And break it down to impersonal debates, which could be regarded

As intelligent discourse, because passion only inflames

Doesn’t make sense if you want to be seen as intelligent

In trying to make my words worthy of intelligence

I lost my voice, for a time at least

 

Until a boy uttered words that made me forget to hide

My passion away in a dark corner of the room

The spark I thought I had lost flamed anew and I took off the gloves

Punch after punch I threw, I did not care for the blood and the sweat

He made me so angry that I forgot that I had to remain detached for my points

To be considered intelligent

 

And just as a boy made me forget, other boys came by to remind me

That I had lost the way and their respect

I listened as they spoke, once again showing me the door to my own prison

And I replied: “no more hiding”

I am tired of holding in the so many scrapes and bruises formed by thoughtless actions

I am tired of making a leash around my own neck to fit into the box created

For me by so many others

I will no longer bury my words within my heart and douse my own fires

For your convenience

I am done!