i won't ever give you half of me,
or any portion other than the whole.

i will tell you everything,
all in the same breath.

i am sorry
i can not separate myself
into bite-sized pieces.

but it is not my fault
that you never learned
to chew.

anger has always been a strand in my DNA.
i inherited this from my father.

it lives buried deep in my chest.
i feel it slightly when i breathe.

a constant throb,
a pit, inside my lungs.

i feel this rage so deeply,
i am used to its presence.

i do not know what it would be like to live without it.
to breathe without it.

life moves,
and people leave.

my skin will stretch
and my mind will learn.

and maybe it takes time,

but maybe i don’t want to wait,
maybe i don’t have time to waste.

i often think
i am not meant to be human.

like i am made for somewhere
other than earth.

maybe i am a being,
made of stars,
but sentenced to life on earth.

i wonder
if i am
a speck of stardust
looking
for a way home.

i try to be soft
but it translates to fury.

i try to be water
but i am ice.

the closest i'll ever be to snow
is a hail storm.

sometimes when I drive to work
the city looks like it is burning.

the sun slipping into the horizon
its wrath ablaze.

it casts raging orange hues across
glass windowed skyscrapers.
it creates a skyline filled with furious fire.

the back of my neck burning
from the warmth of the sun still setting,
and if i think about it long enough,
i can feel the glass windows melting.

i've always imagined the city like this,
raging
and chaos
with life fleeting.

and if i turn the music down,
and roll down the window slightly,
i think i can hear the souls screaming.

deep cries
while life just slips
from their fingertips

the point is,
it looks like the city is dying,
skin blistering, ash breathing

and just for a minute here I think
that this is the cityscape of my mind

all the rage,
and the fury.

and it makes me question why the reflected orange
brings me such peace.

my grandpa packs the dishwasher
because my nan doesn’t like to.

my brother cuts the chicken
because his wife hates the texture.

and i read my students poems
with the same reverence that my teacher read mine.

and i've noticed this all around,
all of these humans being human.

people picking up  
each others lost and littered items.

offering a listening ear
and a wise word or two.

bringing things to homes
as a gift and a 'thank you' for hosting.

still making tea in unfamiliar kitchens
and putting friends’ children to sleep.

still holding things for each other
when hands are too full.

still doing life together,
like plants that share the same soil

facing each other, like sunflowers,
on days when the world is more shade.

giving flowers and heart shaped petals.
still celebrating, and singing songs.

so despite all of the suffering
scattered and dispersed in the world,

there are alters to love everywhere,
and people are still worshipping.