This is a poem for the anger I keep coiled around my ribs Because I was taught that anger is an absinthian poison That will rise like bile in the throat and must be swallowed. And I realize you may read this And you may be angry But I realize with each crunch of bone I must give myself the space To uncoil in this way.
I am angry That you made me a captive reservoir for the bitter droughts you refused to drink yourself. You were iron-stomached after years of punches, that I understood. Open handed, I wanted to be the exception But holy palmer’s kiss Was still not enough to let me cross the threshold. You are the locked room in the house that the children are forbidden Only small glimpses between hinges Of your fear poisoned self Huddled in a corner, vomiting apologies.
I am angry for believing I could have lain beside you every night for the rest of my life And not starved to death from loneliness.
I am angry for ignoring how I dimmed each time I waited for you to want me, to miss me, to think of me, to ask me to come into your arms, to find me fascinating, enchanting to tell me you needed me; to betray anything that proved I was more than convenience, A drink that served itself on a silver platter, Asking to be drunk. If you only knew how luminous I could be when loved well.
I am angry That I still hope you will be waiting by my door after work because you realized how you starved me And now you’ve set a banqueting table, a banner over me is love But I know you will never do this. I know you cannot do this. I am angry that I miss only the space you left, That I have not yet been able to close the gap And walk away from your memory.