I've never been able to yell
or scream at someone.
No matter how angry,
or how hurt I am.

It's a blessing
and a curse.

I live to please.
But who?
Myself? Certainly not.

Sometimes I get so angry
that I want to lash out.
Break something, throw
something against the wall.

Watch something shatter so I know
what it looks like inside my heart.

I pick up a jar, ready to hurl it at
a stone wall.
But just as soon as my arm pitches back,
it falls slowly to the ground.

I sink to my knees and the jar clicks softly
against the ground as I place it next to me.

Soft sobs raking through my body
As if on their own angry rampage.

Fingers dig into my hair, pushing it away
from my face, so that I may see clearly.

To see the unbroken jar still sitting peacefully
next to my hand, now flat on the concrete.