Monday, June 30, 2008

facing my own anger

I have always had a fear of anger.
And this weekend I faced mine in an ugly way.
I never understood anyone who resorted to physical violence.
Now I do.
I am not proud of myself. I am somewhat afraid, but I want to learn what it means.
Why would I allow someone to make me feel that way? Use my energy on somebody who is not even in their right state of mind (or body)...?

The weakness of words

I sit in silence
in between shelves of books
hands shaking
at the keyboard

tuna salad coming up my throat
I taste the bitter,

see all the people
who have hurt me
in that one face, in that
dark hair, skinny body
angry eyes, coked out, drunk
telling me I needed to go to
Weight Watchers

like my younger brother
who used to call me fat,
and the jerks in high school
who made fun of everyone

and the Jr High girlfriends who
decided they didn't like me

my first fuck (I thought I loved him)
who ran away right after
yelling "I don't love you"
never speaking to me again

lace and lemon
stains on my clothes
scrubbing hard with too much soap

that fear
in my stomach
mixed with pride...
a strange recipe

and the books stare back,
and I think
I am a poet, but words
just don't work

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