the sun doesn’t shine
in my world
and i wonder why

maybe it’s because i seem
to write my poems
in the clouds.

in a glorious field of flowers
pick a flower
just one

and tear its petals off
as i would
your throat.

her voice cracks
her words tremble
her anger brings tears to her eyes
she clenches her jaw
she shuts her eyes, trapping her tears.

the wall is a punching bag
blood trickles down her fist
but she doesn't feel the pain
just the anger
white-hot burning anger.