I am angry in the way that bubbles in champagne rocket towards air. I am pretty- in that beige and golden way. That heat paints my face, Scolds my cheeks- like an iron to the crispest collar of a well-dressed man. And I am virile in the hot. Lovely reds and pinks and eyes that catch- LaCross nets that will not meet your gaze lest you see the squall I work so hard to hide. I am breathless with my rage, and oh, so beautiful! Finally. In my pain, I am dry and fragile brittle leaves crunching underfoot, the salt left careless by the sea. Nothing grows in me- nothing grows in me. I am dead sea and beauty floats boastful where love cannot swim. For I carry this grief in the way a river stone bears the weight of the rushing water. The lovely and the ruthless. The heinous and the clean.... the very worst of me is the prettiest to see... Naked before the judges table I have no shame. "Such a pity", they'll say. "Such a beautiful girl, all that anger in such a beautiful girl."
anger is hard to explore in oneself. it's hard to objective. i believe pure anger can create it's own light which has a certain loveliness. thank you for sharing my work.