tantrum
trump
rumplestiltskin

When a child throws a tantrum,
he’d cry and scream and wail.
He’d flail his arms and throw himself on the floor.

Like a child I have tantrums too.

But I have grown past the luxury where it is acceptable for me to openly showcase such explosive displays of displeasure and discontent.

So what do I do?
I have to carefully select words that possibly could capture the essence of the disquiet in my heart and mind.

And I pen them down in tears.







This is me,
and I’m throwing a tantrum.

When I see the tension creep into your shoulders
As you hunch over your keyboard,
A spring coiling, about to explode -
When I hear the expletives crashing on walls
From outside my door -
When I can no longer breathe
The caustic, charged air -
I have two choices:
(I will not - can not fight)
I can freeze,
Make myself small,
Become the doe
With eyes locked straightforward,
Glassy, removed...
Or
I can grab the headphones,
Change into running shoes,
Caress my lithe curves,
And feed my body to the sky,
As I fly.
When you refuse to take care of yourself -
I must be my own protector,
And this fierce goddess
Is beholden to no one.