You look at me sideways, puzzled by my anger
I breathe in the discomfort letting the sediment
fall on my memory, adding that much more weight

I haven't been asked why I'm angry yet
just denied the right to have a voice
imprisoned by my own brittle passivity
and molten fear of non-acceptance

You built the cage for me
and now I stand,
a 6-foot pillar of gold
behind bars of sand
unable to move

Anger, my dark friend in the shadows, has been patient.
He took notes when you said I was wrong
before I even got to finishing on the light I'd found,
on the excitement I found in the reaches
of my creativity, my consciousness.
Anger pinched me to bruising as I sat there,
a passive observer of grey lifeless bodies

You look at me and my anger and slam the door
in our faces, rendering us homeless, cold, starving.
He prefers patience over years, while I anxiously
pull at every eyelash, pick at every wound, shrink.

I want you to see my alabaster skin
and smile of purity
I want to show you my matted fur
and smoking breath

I want you to ask me why I'm angry.