I was angry once.
Oh, I was…so ******* mad.
I didn't shout all the time.
I didn't stomp my feet and rage.
No, I took that anger, that frustration and
I let it build.
I cooked it, slowly over a fire,
let it boil over until I couldn't take the pain anymore.

   When it came out, it was soiled and *****.
Dark and thick from sitting so long over that fire.
I felt hot all over all the time.
Tense as my fists clenched over and over
I grew harder to manage.
I needed a release. I wanted to scream.
Oh but that wrath, felt safe.
That dark inky mess kept people at bay.

     I was quiet, until I couldn't be anymore.
I let that anger build, and spill out whenever.
I didn't recognize myself.
But I couldn't bring me head up over that boiling liquid.
It needed to evaporate. It needed to disappear.
It took me, a whole year to expel the wrath from my blood.

  It isn't gone. Don't make that mistake.
Most will tell you it has. But it's all lies.
The wrath doesn't leave. The boiling water, didn't just evaporate.
My problems weren't just magically healed.
I'd doused the fire, but the coals still flickered to life.
When the water began to boil again. I took the pain.
I learned to **** the pain inward. To redirect that anger.
My wrath turned against me.
  It didn't go away…..
Instead of hating everyone, and getting angry. I just hated myself.