I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry for the way fear stole the words from my mouth And surprise bound my hands and legs to the bed. I'm angry that my mind spun the dial and settled on freeze. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry that silence hung between us, Thicker than the air I was struggling to breathe, That the absence of syllables prevented me from giving name To the violation. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I am angry that I let you, That I convinced myself saying 'yes' after I'd already said 'no' Meant it wasn't so bad after all. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry that others violated so many boundaries I thought love was a race to cross the finish over every line I'd ever drawn, That my best interest and your desires were somehow the same thing. I am not angry that you hurt me. I am angry I sought you as a protector to fight the demons YOU gave me, That I thought you could save me from the fear you were causing. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I am angry that the walls are now caving in Around the idea that I could ever be clean, That I am alone with the thought I somehow did this to myself, That had I listened and not been so hell bent on breaking free of the literal chains, Not been searching for liberation from my childhood hurts , Or chasing my power in the line between '****' and '****', I might still be a "gold-star lesbian" and not tainted goods. I am not angry that you hurt me. I am angry you might still get off to the pictures I sent you, That my manic mental health crises were your free ticket to "play time." I must have always reeked of angst and desperation, Little girl playing dress up in a world she doesn't understand, Seeking solace in a man twice her age, But he would only seek to cage her in bars of his own making. Meanwhile, Mother writes it off as having "bad taste in men," As if she was not a link in the chain of how I ended up there, Neglecting to mention I did not consent to being manipulated by a predator. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I am angry that I thought seeing past the scars on my skin meant you loved me, That acknowledging how others had hurt me meant you wouldn't do the same. I am angry that when your face appeared in my nightmares I let you tell me I was mistaken, That when I began to hate the word **** and couldn't stand it to be mentioned, I believed you when you said it had never happened. I'm not angry you hurt me. I'm ashamed it took me a year to leave Even when you drowned me in enough red flags to make a Matador proud Because I thought I could fix you. Was I not broken too? You made me feel like I owed you for loving me through the cracks, And I am not one to skip out on debts. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry you stole the skin off my body and safety from my mind, And I didn't fight back. I wish you had just killed me so they can't say I was asking for it. Was that not the purpose of the sword wedged under the mattress? You should have finished the job when you choked me, So I don't have to live with this. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry that I didn't stop it. I'm not angry that you hurt me. I'm angry that I let you.
Angry Pen, Angry Pen, oh how I hate you Angry Pen I wish you'd do some changing Cause you're the only one demonstrating sin You make me angry, Angry Pen I know the writing can't begin If you're too angry, angry, angry, angry You're a raging pen And sometimes, I just wish you'd disappear Don't get me wrong when you're happy, I love to have you near And when you're mad, well It's a sad thought, cause it's never been this bad But when you're mad I trail off like the tail of the rat And it only gets worse Sometimes I just wish you were in the back of a hearse I want to put you to death Put you to rest And I don't mean to curse But you **** me off angry pen This pain isn't something I deserve But Angry Pen, I don't understand, why you have to be so cross Were you created that way or were you just taught and if you want to be that way, well, then I'd rather you not Because of you angry pen people think I'm a slob Angry Pen, Angry Pen How you nauseate me pen I don't mean to be hating but I think I feel a changing wind You used to make me angry I used to think you were demonstrating sin But that seems to be fading Because I wrote this poem with the so called 'Angry Pen'
I am angry today Angry because all the core is hollowed Angry because content became arbitrary Angry because lies can so easily be packaged, sold and consumed As honesty And in consuming, leverage is given to the machinations of the lie The machine is now whirring Can you feel it? Can you feel the happy monster, hollowing out the core Processing all the content And spitting it back indistinguishable, shiny and price-tagged? Can you feel the great shudder of humanity Yearning for its heart Searching for its passion Longing for its character?
I am angry with the greedy for their philosophy I am angry with the weak of character for perpetuating And building from the blueprints of greed I am angry with the politicians who broadened the roads Guiding emptiness to our doors I am angry at the vast apathy, seeping from out doors Flowing over each road and filling the cracks in the system I am angry with each individual I have met Who had a chance to let go of an empty façade And choose to do something human But who chose, instead, to look down And push forward in the lie I am angry that what is good is lost To what is practical
I am angry because healthcare is not about the health of people I am angry because education is not about learning I am angry because news is not about being informed I am angry because food is not about nutrition I am angry because work is not about contribution I am angry because music is not about sound And art is not about beauty I am angry because being a person is not about relating To other persons as they are But about relating to their function in the lie Their function in the aforementioned and hollow Shells of what once served as our pillars
Yesterday I was sad I felt saddened by loss Loss of people and meaning Loss of a future that now seems impossible Loss of purpose and agency But then I realized something important I realized why my heart still pounds when I see children Beaten by police for speaking out against the lie Still pounds when I learn of rebels Still pounds when I see the truth growing up through A crack in the road Still pounds when I hear the slam poets Yelling at my generation I realized that sadness is what one feels In the process of giving up And anger is the forerunner to action To life and to love
In sadness we absorb all the pain of the lie In anger, we pull tight the raw sinews of our sadness And shape stones of the pain we’ve absorbed And though we are all mortal At least, when we die in action We send a message that reverberates Through all the machinations of the hollowing lie Through all the squandered hearts of society Through all the ages and spaces of consciousness We will be human No matter the cost We will be full No matter the loss We will relate to each other as we are And we will not believe the lie
When you strike out in just anger You feel all the camaraderie of history Of those who shared in the common understanding Of justice and of fighting for its attainment And in that moment of action You are not alone A thousand immortal fists bolster you Each one shouting “truth!” loudly and in a straight line An unwavering line that does not bend To time or place To odds or probability To fear or hesitation To hatred or malice To resources or means Nor to any limitation
The only one true sin that man can enact Is to forget love And in forgetting love, grow detached Fall into sadness and despair Fall into apathy and neglect Fall into the void of their core Fall such as to forget what they deserve And the punishment for true sin is to be alone I, for one, would rather embrace the vast love of truth And companionship of anger Than wither into sin Cold and lonely
No one wants to hear about the aftermath of survivors of domestic abuse. But Everyone loves to hear a good story. The story of how she had the courage to leave. Everyone wants to hear about all the horrors you had endured. The violations, the violence, the control. They want to hear everything in detail. They want to hear as so they can feel it themselves.
But what they don’t want to hear is the aftermath and healing. After you tell them your lifetime movie stories of the heroine that survived. They just want it to end there. Like you would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, a fairy tale.
After you get away you move on to the next stage. This stage is remembrance and grief. No one wants to hear this. There’s no excitement. This is the stage where survivors again, are supposed to shut up and heal in silence. because if you don’t, then you’re seeking attention.
But what if I don’t want to shut up. What if I want to shout all my anger from the roof tops until my lungs are empty and my throat is on fire?
If you do, then the world will look at you as if you’re too aggressive. Like you’re not a true survivor.
The world thinks no survivor should be angry anymore. That survivors should just be grateful that our war is over. Is that how I should see it , as if I’ve won.
Oh please Society, tell me; what did I win?? What exactly is my ******* grand prize??
Congratulations Alex you’ve won memories that stop you dead in your tracks, dreams of revenge against your abuser putting him through all the suffering you had to endure, You’ve won the feeling of being completely alone and not even being able to trust yourself.
So that’s it? my ******* grand prize is PTSD. That’s what I should be thankful for. **** that ****.
I can’t even tell anyone what exactly I’m going through because people will think I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t feel sorry for myself at all. I’m angry because I was controlled. I’m angry because I don’t fit the stereotype of a domestic abuse survivor. I’m angry because i can’t talk about it to anyone except my therapist. I’m angry that I have to look and act like I’m happy all the time. When actually that’s exhausting for me.
I’m angry at the fact that I’m angry all the time. I’m angry that I’m looking at what I just wrote down and thinking to myself that’s a lie. When it’s not. I’m angry that I can’t be honest with myself.
I’m angry that I have to learn how to not be angry. I’m angry that I have to do all this and my abuser gets to do nothing but be his selfish pigheaded self.
I’m just angry.
It’s not like I plan to be angry all the time. Being this angry gets to be exhausting too.
I am noticing that therapy is helping. I’m not as angry all the time and things make more sense now.
But I’m still angry.
I’m trying to write down exactly what I feel in this moment and write down what is exactly going on in my head.
All things that I don’t get to say.
So what do I have to say?
What do I want to say?
I’m mad at world for not caring about survivors as much as they say they do. I hate those stupid motivational memes on facebook like “god helps you be strong” or “Jesus walks with you through hard times” my *** he does. And those memes don’t mean ****.
And all those people that share awareness but do nothing more then click a like button or share a post ******* too. You’re just as bad. You don’t care about survivors. I don’t see you down in the trenches helping those in need.
I didn’t see you, when I was going through the hardest time in my life.
And ******* too professor storyteller. All that ******* of I help survivors and my heart bleeds for them because my own mother was a survivor.
I tried opening up to you and you completely dodged me.
I had faith in you and you let me down.
I needed help.
But my emotions was too much for you handle.
You like how people see you as a knight in shining armor when there is crowd. But when it came down to put up or shut up you completely ran away.
So you get the biggest middle ******* finger I could ever ******* hold. If I had a billboard I post it for the world to see.
I hope I stay in your mind for all your days as the truth of who you really are.
You and I both know that you’re a beacon of light for all liars with false hopes.
You and that high horse you rode in on can go ******* into the sunset.
You should be exposed for every time you step foot into a domestic violence meeting or awareness event as the coward who ran away.
You should be seen with a scarlet letter.
You’re worse than my abuser.
You offered hope when you had none to give.
You lied to me and you should be held accountable for those lies and the false hope you spread.
Like I said the world doesn’t want to hear a word of our grieving and healing stage.
They only want the juicy details like gossip. So who’s really the aggressor?
I feel like I should explain this rant. I wrote this back in January when I first started therapy. This is my second oldest piece. I was very angry. I’ve grown a lot through mindfulness and therapy. I just felt like I should share this with the world. Just so everyone can see that our battle is not over, even after we leave.
I’m an angry feminist because women are told that their place is in the kitchen I’m an angry feminist because walking by myself at night is never safe I’m an angry feminist because men want 4 wives while they can't handle one properly I’m an angry feminist because I was told to sit right and close my legs I’m an angry feminist because she was asking for it is still an excuse I’m an angry feminist because women are killed because they “betrayed” the family honor I’m an angry feminist because we teach girls how not to get ***** but not boys not to **** I'm an angry feminist because girls are sexually assaulted no matter how modestly or immodestly they are dressed I’m an angry feminist because we are told to shut up when a man speaks I’m an angry feminist because women are still beaten by their partners I’m an angry feminist because women are still judged by the appearance only I’m an angry feminist because women are still faking ******* I'm an angry feminist because your sexist jokes are never funny I’m an angry feminist because we should never say no to a man or he will feel offended...oooh i have pity on them.. poor creatures I’m an angry feminist because people still don't know what a feminist means Lesbians who hate men they say
Angry man, Angry man, Who claws his way through trash cans. Why is there a silver band, on the ring finger of your left hand when I see that you've no wife?
Angry man, Angry man, Who sings of a lost love through bottled up tears and whimpering sobs. Why is it that you cry?
Angry man, its raining and its hardly been an hour. Since I last saw an expression so sour as the one you wear as you glumly sit in the rain. Why don't you ever smile?
Angry man, they say you're bitter. Called a drunkard and a quitter. But I saw you stare down that strange man who tried to follow me home the other day. You must not be as bad as people say you are, you must have a reason as to why.
Angry man, you've lost your home. Angry man, you look alone. Why does misery soak into your skin?
Angry man, I am sad to hear and see, the horrific tragedy that happened to your wife and daughter while you were at work.
Angry man, your wife must have loved you. She waited seven years for you to propose to her and loved you as much as she did after all those years. You must have known.. She must wish that she could kiss and hug you.
Until then she waits for you in that place close to God with your daughter.
Angry man, your daughter must have called you "Papa" in such a way that only a five-year old could. Don't you remember when she'd giggle as you tickled her awake every morning because she didn't want to wake up?
Angry man, I am not teasing. Angry man, please believe me.
God blessed you with a loving wife and gave you both a beautiful daughter.
Won't you stop mourning over the car accident. While you were at work and your wife was driving your baby girl to school...you couldn't have known that a drunken driver would take them both from you.
When the police called you at work, confused but cooperating you took a seat as they suggested and hoped that they wouldn't make you late for dinner.
Slowly realising as they explained. That your wife was dead along with your daughter. Whose birthday was only in two weeks. You planned to take her to the country so she could ride her first pony, because she loved horses so much and begged for one every Christmas.
Your wife. Brown eyed, high school sweetheart. Always made sure you had a good day, loving you as long as you two knew each other. Anniversary a few months ago...
Rage boils your blood into steam. You want the drunken fool to pay, smash him into the ground till your wife and child comes back.
Screaming at the officers who try to calm you down with understanding and pity in their eyes.
Stream alongside your face and you are on your knees weeping and breathing so hard for your family. Wishing you didn't go to work early that day, because ***** traffic. You could have drove your daughter to school. Your wife would have been safely at home making sure that all was ready for your daughters surprise drive out to the country.
They wouldn't have been dead.
You were numb during the funeral preparations. Felt hollowed out at the joint funeral. Made sure that your daughter held her favorite stuffed animal in her casket.
Made sure that your wife wore those oval earrings you bought her for your first anniversary. Remembered when she'd kiss your cheek twice on special occasions whenever she wore them. Because she loved them so much. How your daughter would burst into giggles and you'd kiss her cheek so she'd feel loved too.
Quitting your job amd starting to drink. Eventually losing your home.
Always putting flowers on their graves every year. This year made three.
Angry man, please be happy. Because your sadness would be breaking their hearts, they'd want you to be happy.
Won't you put down the beer bottle...
and find your way home?
Wanted to write something where anger can be seen differently. And I wanted to tell a story that'd break a readers heart.
Today I am angry. I'm angry that the car is ***** from my sister's dog. I'm angry that the cat threw up on my bed. I'm angry that I wasted time taking the family dog to the groomers when it was the wrong day. I'm angry that I'm tired I'm angry to the point that I want to cry and grumble I'm angry that these dogs are pooping and peeing in the house and making a mess and nothing feels clean. I'm just so ******* ******* ******. At everything. I'm angry that the water in the shower won't heat up. I'm angry that whoever showered last left puddles on the floor. I'm angry the sink keeps clogging. Heck, I'm angry that I woke up. I'm angry at everything around me. But I'm mostly angry at myself for allowing my anger to show For letting it control me... But it still burns viciously with an unquenchable hunger.
I am angry Anger is the root of not getting what you want and I really want my people to progress but there just seems to be so much distress that is plaguing my people I am angry Angry because education isn't valued I mean we used to fight to try to read and write but now I see kids that can't even read or just don't want to My great grandfather traveled four states with a family to find a decent education when we were even allowed to be educated Where has that audacity gone My grandfather was a principle My daddy went to a segregated school and has his phd cuz he values education I am angry Angry when I see my beautiful black sistahs not valuing themselves because they think they aren't valuable cuz there daddy isn't there But that's called an excuse to live a life that is bound by low self-esteem I am angry Angry when I see my brothas on these corners knowing they are smart enough to do something better Mystical weather conjuring to be a constipation storm cuz everything is backed up We can push through for a release So I am angry Angry that my people aren't seeing that something jus ain't right We aren't owed anything We do have something to bring to the table But we are so angry about all the oppression And once we got free we took to for granted So I am angry...what are u?!
I'm angry It always takes me a while to realize this I'm angry At the fact that I can't get over this guy I'm angry That he's all I think about I'm angry That no other guy makes me feel this way I'm angry That I know that nothing will happen I'm angry That I'm wasting my time I'm angry That I'm getting depressed I'm angry That my sadness is beginning to consume me I'm angry That no one will notice I'm angry Because I won't tell anyone I'm angry That the only person that did listen is gone now I'm angry That I don't want to share my feelings I'm angry That I'm writing a poem about it
I'm the next act on stage. Good. It's about ******* time all that needed to be said Finds a way to get out.
So here's the thing: I've made mistakes I've ****** up a lot, and I'm willing to admit that Because every ******, I learn from it Unfortunately sometimes it takes more than once.
So my first big ******: I made love. 18 years old, questioning everything ANGRY for the first time in my life Really truly ANGRY and REBELLIOUS Like I've never been before. So angry at a God that presumed To ask everything of me and give nothing back Who took and took and took and took And let others take from me, from others Especially women, a long long time ago And maybe they were stupid And maybe they were awful people And maybe they deserved it but they were STILL PEOPLE Still women Still girls like me Scared and lonely Hungry for an outlet for all of the ****** passion And anger DEAR GOD SUCH ANGER That had built up inside.
So I was mad And I felt alone Except for one thing Him He who I now look back on and wonder what My rational brain could have seen In a hundred thousand eons of pain and suffering and loneliness What it could have seen in a rat In a **** like him But he wasn't that bad I'm just angry
We made love We loved each other And I had anger So we made love. As if loving each other made it alright Because what they never tell you in Sunday school What they never really get across with all the "Shou shalt not's" and "Don't touch that's" About chastity What they do tell you is don't do it But they never ******* tell you why Because it isn't going to last. It really just isn't Even though you think it will Put that stupidity aside and see for JUST A SECOND It won't. Just assume it wont. And you'll be with someone else And they'll be hurt They will actually be ******* SHATTERED That you didn't save anything special for them That you have nothing to give them that you didn't first give to someone else.
So yeah, I left. I'm usually the one that leaves. Out of 10's or 20's of loves I'm the one that usually loses it first Except for twice... Nah... Nah now it's thrice. And I loved again And left And I loved again And left. And at one point I felt sorry for what I did But nah, that was an illusion Brought on by the tears he wept when I told him I had nothing left to give only to him.
Then I met another Him And I told him early because I was SO SICK AND ******* TIRED Of having to hide what I had done Pretending to feel guilty about making love To a little **** who I loved once But no, he wasn't that bad He didn't know any better I'm the ****. I am.
So I told him And he got scared But then he came back... Oh my god he came back, I thought he would leave. And he held me tighter And he loved me more And he forgave me He moved on He trusted me But back up a little.
His name was Hunter. And when I met him, I was dating the guy I thought I would change for And a week later I left. And I immediately got googly-eyed over Hunter But also someone else. His name was Collin. Collin got to me first, because, Crazy thing He seemed more mature And like he could handle it better if I didn't want to be attached yet So I told him I didn't want anything serious And we made out.
And then I started falling more for Hunter Because Collin was a one-upper. And Hunter was sweet and interesting Intelligent in speech On our first date We discussed Neitzche in a ****** local burger joint And he was beautiful In my life I don't think I will ever find Adonis in the flesh again And eventually, after trying very hard I got him to kiss me God how he kisses is like tasting wine And has the same affect on my mind And excites my body beyond what I've felt before And that lasted the whole time I was with him It still hasn't gone away To this day if he kissed me I think my cells would fly apart with joy
Now here's where my shittiness comes back in And makes everything confusing So I was making out with Collin one night And Hunter the next And I told them both I ******* TOLD HIM "We are not dating." I said that. Exactly that. Meaning there is NO commitment NO expectations YOU can do whatever you want with whoever AND SO CAN I
Eventually Hunter persuaded me to be his girl. So I basically just started ignoring Collin Stopped making out Stopped hanging out Stopped talking pretty much So I could be with just the one I had COMMITTED myself to. And we were happy. Until I told him.
Then he was hurt. He felt betrayed Even though I ******* TOLD HIM WE ARE NOT DATING During that time He felt he had claim on me during that time Just because he had kissed me He said "I wish you had told me how little a kiss means to you I would never have ******* kissed you." And I got ANGRY And then you know what?
I said I'm sorry I said you're right I said "I put his feelings before yours, that was wrong, and it will never happen again." I should've never done that. I didn't do anything wrong. And I gave him power over me That no one should ever have.
We spent the last month or two In despairing bliss Knowing that at the end of the college semester Which had been so short He would go home to Georgia And I would return to the mountains And I had played the long-distance game before And would not do it again
I should have just taken what I could get
So the last day, we helped each other pack We cried So much Into each other's shirts and shoulders Hearts breaking but hopeful For a promise I promised him AND THIS IS THE ONLY THING I PROMISED That at the end of the summer We would both be available So that we could try again THAT'S IT
So I cried my way home And he took his plane And we Skyped until 2 his time every night After about another month The usual sadness and loneliness hit Being home is bad for me I lose sense of up and down As I feel my wheels spinning on the ice In the freezing summer between springs I missed him So much that I felt empty I ached and hungered and died every day Though it was nice to see my old friends again But the worst thing happened I remembered that I like flirting And I had already ****** up once
Why not do it again? Three more times?
For two months I didn't make love I ****** Mindlessly Cuddled for a bit with a friend Then he'd admit he liked me I'd tell him I wasn't going to date this summer And he'd get hard And he'd get insistent "We can just be friends with benefits" He'd say He genuinely liked me They always did One even said he loved me I had no such emotion for them I just wanted to not feel so alone
So we'd cuddle, talk, kiss, ****, And I'd go home every time still empty Still cold Still alone And sad And guilty And for two months I wandered around in that hell Wondering why it wasn't getting any warmer Wondering how the **** I was still alone With all these men that wanted me so bad And every night as I fell asleep I thought about Hunter Oh God... I could never tell him No, he would never understand
And he didn't. When I finally told him Not because it was any of his ******* business BECAUSE IT WASN'T We were not dating There was no commitment No promises except that I'd be there in the end We kept admitting love for one another Which was a mistake in retrospect But he had no right to feel such claim on me
The worst part was that he had asked me over the summer And I had lied and justified And gotten angry SO ******* ANGRY at him Every time he got suspicious HE HAD NO ******* RIGHT And I got angry Because I was guilty Especially because it wasn't helping And all I wanted was him
So I told him Not because he had a right to know But because I finally trusted him enough And wanted no secrets between us Wanted one SINGLE ******* PERSON Who I could show my whole self to Tell everything to Just one And I wanted it to be him And he was angry
And oh god for days he was angry And every night he made me cry Because I told him to let it out That it might help So he called me ***** He called me **** He called me cheater He told me that nothing meant anything to me That nothing was special to me Nothing physical would ever be special or worth anything from me But... But I still don't understand Honesty That was important to me That was everything to me And I had given it to him I don't understand Why he walked all over it Why
That That's enough I can't talk about this anymore right now Ask me again another day Just not right now
Alright I guess I should anyway
So the last month of summer I was with no one I spent every night Skyping him Every night either crying in the hurt of his angry words Or singing my love and praises for him And when he went on a trip and couldn't call me I took pictures and screenshots every night To show him I wasn't out again I was at home Safe Alone Waiting for him
A month it went on like that Until it was finally one week before school I drove down to the college, picked him up He greeted me at the door and I lept into his arms And he held me and we cried And there was love And I felt complete And I could finally breathe again And the gasps wracked my body with pleasure and pain
I took him and we spent a week of heaven In my home in the mountain He met my family And they all loved him And we talked Once in a while there would be a sad moment But he said he'd try He said he loved me And I had hope...
Why didn't he try? He left me when we got back to school Why didn't he stay I don't understand I've tried so hard I've mended fences with God Hoping he can help me But it's taking time And it doesn't mean anything to Hunter Why? I told him all of the truth All of it And laid myself at his feet Just asking that when he was done abusing me Done being angry Done with his vengeance That he would love me And keep me And stay But he left I don't understand I tried. So hard.
And I can't let go of him How can I? I invested my whole self in the warm and golden dream Of lying in his arms at night I changed myself to be what he wanted I changed my mind to match his What more could I do?
Don't I deserve forgiveness? Haven't I earned just one last chance?
I'm angry I'm angry that this is the world we live in I'm angry that I can't walk down the street without being harassed I'm angry that I constantly have to think about how people will react to what I wear I'm angry about the everyday inconveniences this world has made for me But more than anything I'm angry that I have to think twice about helping an elderly man into his car I'm angry that today there was a disabled man slowly pushing his wheelchair across the parking lot and I didn't help him Because that's the world we have created A world where we are consistently aware that even by being good we can be punished I am so angry that I sat there and watched that man for ten minutes And didn't move because how could I know that he wasn't another Ted Bundy How could I know We have created a world with such a deep chasm of distrust that I can't even believe that this poor man was truly disabled As a woman I have to be afraid of a man in a wheelchair A man who seemingly cannot walk still has the ability to terrify me I am so angry That I am limited Not only by the things that I wear and the places in which I can go alone But I am limited in my ability to make the world a better place I am limited And I am angry
Women are not allowed to be angry. We are taught to be quiet, easy, pretty. We cannot yell, because that does not make us beautiful. We are taught to be delicate, dainty, soft. We are not allowed to be angry. 1 in 5 women will be sexually assaulted before they graduate college. 60% of the world's malnourished population are women. 830 women die from preventable causes due to pregnancy or childbirth. We are not allowed to be angry. Women earn 77 cents to every dollar a man makes. 62 million girls are denied educational around the world. 4 out of 5 victims of human trafficking are girls. Female genital mutilation affects 300 million girls worldwide. 5 African American women die from breast cancer each day. We are not allowed to be angry. Our president mocked a ****** assault survivor on live television. Our country elected a ****** abuser to the Senate. 63% of **** cases go under reported. We are not allowed to be angry. Women of color are stereotyped as angry without even opening their mouths. Women of native descent are 3 times more likely to be sexually abused in their lifetime. We are not allowed to be angry. We are not allowed to be angry when we hear classmates talk about how they were sexually assaulted and no one cared, tears streaming down her face. She was 16. We get told to "calm down, you're being dramatic" by people we thought we could trust, people we love. We are mocked for our passion, for our apathy, for our triumphs and for our failures. Feminism has become a ***** word. But it is the only way, the only way, we can gain our equality, our freedom. I don't want to be terrified of being alone at night. I don't want to watch what I say around a group of men. I don't want to feel scrutinized in every article of clothing I wear. I don't want to be sexualized for having *******. I don't want to be scared of being alone with a boy at a party. I don't want to be called angry when I speak up for my rights. We are not allowed to be angry. But we are. We are angry.
Flower growing around my wrists Angry angry angry Thorns cut deep into my skin Angry angry angry My blood is boiling And leaking from my eyes Red blooms blossoming from the tight cracks in my fists Angry Angry Angry
I’m angry. I’m angry because pouring a glass of wine is more important than asking me about my day. I’m angry because when I tell you a secret everyone knows in a matter of seconds and you didn’t even say a word. The wine did. I’m angry because when I ask my father for help all he says is “this is how it is”. I’m angry that I’m not stronger than your bottle opener. I’m angry that when I cry for help You can’t hear because you’re drowning In wine. I’m angry because you’re angry that i lie. I lie because I’m angry. I’m just angry, that’s all.
All i can remember From my teenage years Is that i was always angry I was angry for being alive I was angry at this world I was angry for no reason I was angry at myself I was angry because of my parents I was angry for being stuck at my parents’ house I was angry for wasting so much time being angry I was just angry all the time Nothing was memorable Now I am angry for reaching this age And not learning about life I am angry for remembering My teenage years
I want to feel your bones crush in my hands. I want to feel your skull crunch under my feet. I want to cause pain. I want to make chaos.
I am angry.
I want to break, tear, smash, throw, and shred. I want you to feel just a fraction of this pain.
But that's not just why I'm angry. I am angry because I am sad when happy things happen. I am angry because it doesn't change. I am angry because it won't change. I am angry because it all changes so quickly. I am angry because I am angry.
I'm stuck between an angry vent and a sad one I'm sad And I hide my true emotions behind anger So I'm really angry about the fact that I feel empty I'm angry about crying myself to sleep I'm angry at her (like seriously this time I'm angry for real) I'm angry that she doesn't really care much I'm angry that I miss my family I'm angry because of what I've done I'm angry because I can't figure myself out... I'm angry because one second I'm happy and I like who I've become I'm angry because the next in fighting off the pit that's been growing in my stomach
A pit that I started filling too late Because now I'm sitting at the bottom of this pit looking up at the better me throwing dirt onto me
im angry with the lord because i dont understand how a young girl, only 5 years old can die in a world that an "all-powerful, all-loving" god controls
im angry with the lord because i dont understand how a man can do such a thing to his daughter the man who should have carried her through thick and thin but left her to swallow the guilt that isnt her fault
im angry with the lord because i dont understand why my mom is crying in her bed at night because my "father" isnt around to help because shes left to pay the bills on her own and we struggle to just get by
im angry with the lord because i dont understand how there are children starving and how there are people without homes when this almighty being controls us
im angry with the lord because he should be saving us not condemning us to feel this pain not turning his back when we pray not leaving us in sorrow and suffering which is the way i feel everyday
im angry with the lord because i dont understand what i have to do in order to keep the happy moments rolling how do i please him enough to push out those awful moments
im angry with the lord bc i want answers why do bad things keep happening and the good people keep dying
im angry with the lord because im sitting here with tears in my eyes and suicide on my mind trying to keep my composure while i try to read you these rhymes and i dont understand whats wrong with me because im angry with the lord.
******-Angry girl took over last night. She is explosive with rage and it is fierce and uncontrolled. She physically and verbally abuses the little girl inside of me, and although she is not a threat to anyone but us, she does like to verbally abuse Dear Therapist, via email. Sometimes a few months will go by without her taking over, sometimes only a few weeks, but she has been present since Monday, relentlessly torturing the rest of us. She wants to die. She cannot handle the pain, the past is overwhelming and she knows of no other way out. She strongly believes that Dear Therapist manipulated the 5 year old into trusting him, and then once he declared victory of getting the untrustable to trust, he decided he could just take off and not be there for her. And Angry Girl HATES Dear Therapist for that! Because after all these years of independence and never relying on anyone to help or “be there”, now the baby who cries for Dear Therapist’s help at night, drives us f#%king crazy!
Not only did ******-Angry girl cut me last night, she sent some emails to Dear Therapist. Emails that were discovered today when I checked my sent file. ******-Angry Girl wants to cut the whiny baby out of my body. She hates her. She wants Dear Therapist to go away. She hates him too.
Below is an excerpt from the emails sent to Dear Therapist. It’s ******-Angry Girl’s anger that scares me. She will **** me…it’s only a matter of time. She won’t stop until it happens. She has no will to live she wants only to escape the endless pain.
Angry ****** Girl:I am not fearful of death. ******* welcome it! Hope u enjoyed ur vacation! Thanks for caring and taking my "fear" seriously" (huge amounts of dripping poisonous sarcasm!) Ur so great and I'm so nothing! So I shouldn't be missed! and I guess ur "best" doesn't include calling me bk n 24 hrs- does it? For future reference, get a ******* back-up! There will be times when the "crazy" clients can't wait for a week to ******* deal w/a "non-existent" fear!!! **** u and ur ******* rose colored glasses! I'm not afraid of ******* dying! Dying will be a ******* relief!!! **** that man! **** that sorry man who calls himself Dad! He ******* Ruined all of it! ******* hate u! I ******* hate u and ur ******* "stay present"! U ******* stay present in my body every ******* nite! I ******* told u it was bad! But as usual, u blew me off "it’s only 3 emails" no big deal" **** u!!! It may not be a big deal to u, but it was a huge ******* deal to me!!! But **** it! Obviously that wasn't impt to u! Becuz I don't matter! Nothing here that can hurt me right now!?!?U go ahead and believe that - w/ur rose colored glasses on, dear therapist- becuz he will **** me. And when he does, don't ******* preach "theresz nothing that can hurt u right now, Nita" nothing. Ur so ******* wrong about that! In fact, I'm offended tht u even said it! How contradictory of u! "ur fear is real to u- I've nvr said it isn’t" Really? That's not what ur ******* saying now!? I hope when I'm dead u don't preach that **** to someone else. I hope if someone else comes to u and tells u he's going to **** her u ******* think about me and what happened to me- and ******* believe it! Becuz it IS real right the **** now!!!! It is ******* real!!! This could not have worked out better! ******* ***** is aware that u don't hear her now- so she won't tell anything! We are done- I can cut her out of her misery! Finally!!!
It will never stop. There is no way it will ever stop. I am discouraged and hurting. There is no escape. There are no answers. There is nothing but this endless pain. And he doesn’t care. I tried to tell him, but he doesn’t listen. It’s worse when he’s gone. And he can kiss my *** with his “Put it in a safe container” – HELLO!!!! There’s no way to contain it! It’s like trying to put pour rain back into a cloud! Why the hell can’t he see that? There’s no way to ‘check’ the pain at the door when I ******* leave his office! It’s ******* Hotel California! There is no escape! I cannot leave.
So tired of the fighting with the ******-Angry Girl...need to find a way to make her stop...put her to rest for good. I am battle-weary and so tired...I am waving the flag of surrender...
I will not be pretty I will not be quiet I will not be small and female I will not be what you expect me to be I will not be all that is womanly and sweet and feminist I am angry. I am angry and I will not stop fighting. My heart is fire and my soul is iron and my bones are ice and I am angry. I will not let you decide what makes me who I am. I am all genders. I am none. I am not pretty. I am not quiet. I am not small. I will not stop fighting I will keep yelling I will scream until my voice breaks and with that and the many like me I will fight again and again My skin is stone and my hair is coal and my eyes are the waves that break you against the stones and I am angry. I will not let you decide anyone's fate based on ridiculous ideals I will **** and fight and kick and scream and I will not fall in love unless I care to I am angry. I am not a woman or a man or a human anymore I am fire and metal and blood and the forces of nature that you cannot quell and my anger will not cease. I will stay angry until everyone has rights. I will be angry until women, men and anyone else are all equal. I will not make myself **** for your enjoyment. My genitals do not make me a toy. I am angry.
but im stressed and im scared and im alone and im worried about you i should be worried about my exams pushing myself to the very breaking point breaking down breaking through alas i spend my hours in an exhausted mess trying to think of how how how to fix you. and im angry. because you give advice you dont take we all do and im angry because as much as i try to put pieces together and be there for you and give you space and fix your problems and be your escape i cant not like you need me to maybe we dont fit maybe i cant cope with your stress outs and maybe you get sick of my constant sadness and maybe one day one of us will just get up and leave. and this time not come back. see i love you like an addiction but i see how you'll ruin me i see how much detoxing from you is going to **** me you will **** me and i cant get the image of you leaving out of my head and im angry
because 'please baby' wont appease you 'stay' wont make you 'i love you' wont mean anything to you
im scared of you and im angry im scared of you and what you do to me because who else could make me fall half as fast but twice as hard as the last? who else can set me on fire yet provide the ******* salvation im scared of you im scared youll break me
and maybe heartaches meant to but thing is i think you can walk away unfuckingscathed and oh **** baby that makes me angry.
i say fix you like its a problem about you but its not about you its about your situation but thing is the way i see the word fix ? youll push me further and further away you warned me so i cant be angry but how far can i be pushed before i walk away defeated you warned me and i can promise to be your saviour but im not sure how and that makes me angry i want to be your saviour and the truth is no matter how far you push me ill always always be there when you come back no matter if were not together if its 10 years down the track and i barely remember your name but i remember your lips and the marks you left on me and the words you said and the way you make me feel and how much my heart jumps when you look at me and how much i love you
how much i love you
thats the thing
im angry because i care im angry because im scared because i love you and ive never loved someone like i love you so when i say im angry i mean please dont leave.
it has been over two years and i am proud of my growth. my main focus this year is to finish my grieving so that i may continue my life in an efficient manner. the process of grieving is commonly known as, but not limited to:
denial anger bargaining depression acceptance
my denial proces: many times the easiest way to get over trauma is to repress it. i was 15 when i was ra ped. legal age of consent is 16. he was 18. i was naive, and could not imagine the man i loved doing that to me. i believed that it was an accident and neither of us knew what was right or wrong. I had assumed that because i had previously given him my body, he was able to ignore my pleads to stop this time. i blamed myself more than i blamed him, and he blamed me. i had been so infatuated with him that i had pushed away the people who cared most about me. when i told them about being ***** our bond was already so far gone that they could not feel anything more than pitty. i was terrified of losing him, so i convinced us both it was an accident. ra pe is no accident.
through denial became anger: i became genuinely angry for the first time in my life. i was angry at him for being somebody that i had trusted and loved. angry that i had let this happen to myself. angry that i had no strength nor respect to stand up for myself. if i had told him to stop one more time he would have. i understand now that i should not have had to say no more than once. i was angry because i let myself down, but I’m more angry that i could not blame him. being angry was the easiest part of grieving. it is okay to he angry.
bargaining is a toxic healing method: i became really good at bargaining with myself. after he was gone i had begun to understand my emotions, but i could not control them. my fear of more being taken from me fed my overcompensation. i began to give my body away, so that it could not be taken. it was an unhealthy coping mechanism. my body is not meant to be given nor taken.
depression hit hard: i began to reflect on all of the points in my life that had lead me to this one. i became close to restarting the grieving process. i spent a long portion of the depression stage in denial. then i was angry that i had backtracked to the beginning. i had more meaningless se x that i now regret more than anything. i saw how good his life had been going and how poorly mine was. it was obvious that i needed help.
acceptance: this entire passage was my process to acceptance. i reached out to my therapist. i made new friends. i stopped wallowing in self pity and i began to recover. i stopped begging to forget my flaws and began to forgive them.
I'm angry. I'm angry at my parents for lying to me about love; and not encouraging me to take a risk for you. I'm angry because I believed after sixteen years we would have developed some type of.. friendship. I'm angry because I thought all those things you did and said meant something to you: more than words. Because, I thought I meant something to you.. I'm angry because I feel for you and you weren't there to catch me. Because I keep falling; everyday. I'm angry at you because you don't seem to see me. I don't make a difference. Most of all, I'm angry at God for taking you away from me. It feels like life has just stopped since you left. Everything has hit the breaks... and I crashed. I'm angry because despite the distance, the lies, the brokenness, I still love you..
I get angry at you a lot these days. Not for the drugs Or for the intermittent appearances like a commercial during my favorite show Or for the arguments you couldn't bother to hide from me Or for the distaste you held for my father so ******* proudly that anyone on our block could tell you about how many near fist fights my mom had to pull you out of Or for the times I'd find you locked away in your room crying so ******* hard you couldn't speak or look at me Or for the times you got lost in space while I was talking to you about important things
No. Not for these beautiful moments of you in your rawest forms. I get angry when I remember how much I ******* loved you I get angry when I remember your favorite foods, and sounds- I can't even ******* look at Mickey Mouse anymore without almost breaking down
I get angry because I remember how easily you could calm me down and help me regain control Because out of EVERYONE in that household, you loved me enough to figure me out.
I get angry because I took the time to repay that respect just to have it spit in my eye I get angry on the days I think about my childhood and remember how you smiled but not the laugh. I get angry when I remember you telling me not to be a cry baby, each and every time those floodgates break In fact I heard it three times when writing this
I get angry because now, as an adult I can see myself following your foot steps And I've never been more proud And I can see that I've outlived you; surpassed the place you left your last mark And I am hurt that I no longer have your portrait like footprints to guide me I get angry that you made yourself my older sister when you saw I had no one And that I loved you so much your death still brings me to shakes 15 years later.
I get angry because you died And more importantly No one said you were allowed to do that before me And I get angry because I know that wasn't your choice So when I picture the last time I saw that car And imagine what it was like with you still in it I bleed myself in your honor.
So I'll run I'll run so ******* fast and far it'll make you think of when we used to foot race Or when we played tag together and I was always it because you were too quick
I'll scream in rage and in fear I'll scratch my arms and slice my fingers until my skin matches my carved out soul I'll rip the Earth apart into nothing but my love for you Until the day I can end this good mourning By hearing you sing your bird like chime "Good Morning, Get up, Let's go"
I am afraid of speaking. I am afraid of the texture of my voice, and the effect it will have on you. I don't want to be pressed into the caricature of an angry woman; voice raised in what they call a hysterical display of emotion. Calm down. Be rational.
Stop being So Dramatic.
Well let me tell you something: I am an angry woman.
Because all I can see is my best friend’s blonde head, coming within an inch of becoming the crushed drywall beneath his fist. All I can see is the false piety painted on his pastor’s face, asking, “well… did he hit you?”
I see her eyes closed in the darkness, fingers gripped in the sheets he tore off of her body to wake her. She has to hold on to something. He says, “Show me you're enjoying it.”
Calm down. Be rational.
Like he wasn't gaining access INTO her BODY by FORCE. Like, of course it's her job to lay down and take it. Like it. Lick his lips for the taste of honey, because honey, he told you to.
but it's poison. It enters her bloodstream, weakening her will to resist it.
She looks at her phone, at a text she did not compose herself, or send, “Hey hot stuff. When you see this, let's have ***. “If I pretend I didn't write this I'm just playing hard to get.”
Do you get it?
Yeah. I am an angry woman.
Stay calm, dear sister. Be rational. Rationalize the gaslighting, because the big picture doesn't look beautiful when you hang it above the sofa; and her home was staged to look like a family so that when you look in the window, you don't see that she was a hostage. You don't see that her son was asleep in the bed when he grabbed her face between his hands and crushed it, And called it “gently redirecting her gaze.”
From the window, you can't see his body blocking the exit. You can't see her baby, with his little fingers curled around her *******, begging for comfort.
I will not calm down. And in case you are so damaged by devotion to comfort that you can't see it, it is right to be angry.
It is righteous.
I am angry, and more rational than I have ever been in my entire life- rationally, righteously begging for justice to flow down like rivers.
Im successful head on my shoulders straight I have my full portion love family job and money on my plate Im the type to smile every time you see me But i keep running into angry birds on the street Im happy can have any girl i want Im flawless what you see is what you get no need to stunt I can be whateva a ***** need and i guess they see And thats y you angry birds keep pecking at me Gossiping throwing dirt on my name Saying im not **** added by wanna be truths yall claim Snatching my nerves one by one Boiling my blood some one give me a gun Im bout to go on a hunt for these angry *** birds Naw not the game im not throwing you ******* at pigs I dont need you hoes to get to the next level ***** please But im about to toss you hoes straight rag you in the streets Im feeling bad for you birds so every now and then i throw yall bread And in return you hoes ******* on my head **** these angry birds Tryna hatch hate on my life Jealous cuz im a dove and they pigeons thats not right For all my successful ladies who is a go getta for hers When these ******* try to dog you, and pull you down just say i feel bad for these angry birds
The Boy woke up at around a quarter to noon, and to his deep surprise, he found that he had not awoken where he had planned to the night before. Instead, he found himself in a strange bed, in a strange room, on a strange street, with a strange girl next to him. Of course, the girl was not so strange, as he had met her twice before, and the room, at least, he knew had to be somewhere in Ann Arbor, but that was certainly the extent of what he knew of his situation, basically, pretty much, that’d be what he told people later on, and would believe himself. He looked around, and he was shocked, and he remembered in a flash that this might not be very good boyfriending on his part, and in a fit of guilt, or maybe exhaustion or in forfeit, he leaned his head back once again and fell asleep for a while longer. When the Boy woke up again, it had turned to one in the afternoon. He woke up this time with a mop sweat, and his hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes burning from the salt water. The Girl was now awake also, and she was brushing her hair quietly, on her roommate’s bed right next to where the Boy was now sitting upright. “I should go now.” The Boy tried to say, but before he spoke the Girl smiled at him, and crawled over and kissed him softly. “Good morning.” She said, and rested her head on his lap, looking up. “Good morning.” “Did you sleep well?” “Very. Thanks you. I hope you did too.” “I did.” The Boy touched the girl’s cheek and she touched his, and he knew he wanted to leave, but he was afraid, so instead, he and the Girl lay down together, and watched TV for a while.
I guess I made a mistake, thought the Boy. I guess this isn’t going to look too good. I should probably get back to the house, see Joe, smoke our cigar, think of a story that I can tell Melissa; but I shouldn’t tell a story, should I? It would certainly be safer. I should probably, for my safety. I should probably not for my conscience. Anyway, I’m not sure how to get back to the house. I’m not sure how I got here. I think I took a cab. I think I was at a party. I think it was last night. It may have been yesterday morning; for the football game. I think I got here without protest. I think the game was a good one. I don’t think I got in though. I don’t think we won either. My head should hurt right now. Why do I feel so good, and healthy, and spry, and energetic? This isn’t exactly just punishment for my actions. Her skin is so soft; I’d like to kiss it again. I think I will. Still, I do feel guilty. Melissa’s good to me. That was a good game, from what I can remember. I don’t think we won though. I think we lost. Ohio State won, but I got very drunk, and that was good, and then I danced, and I had fun. Then I ended up here. How did I end up here?
The Boy stroked The Girl’s hair and he kissed her again. In the light from the window she looked happy, and her smile was much whiter than his, and he liked that. She wore an oversized gray sweater, and without any makeup or any of the typical fixings she looked more beautiful than ever. Not surprisingly, this was a dilemma for the Boy, who wanted to leave so he could be done with this episode. Instead he stayed a while longer, didn’t pick up his phone when it rang, kissed the girl some more, talked about what they were going to do that day, forgot about Melissa. He felt guilty only for a moment, but more than anything, he felt proud, and that pride dug into his side and hurt him. Nevertheless, he didn’t want it to go away. It was his pride after all. The Girl, on the other hand, seemed to feel guiltier than the Boy, but at the same time, she was tender, and welcoming, and she embraced what she had done in a sort of graceful manner that only girls with experience and class can do without seeming too self-confident. She too, had a boy back home, but she had liked the Boy, and that was that, and in the light on the day, to her, he also still seemed good to her. Of course, what the Girl knew, and the Boy did not, was that as soon as he walked out of her room that day, that was the end of the episode in reality. There would be no more kisses, no more conversations, and when they both went home to see their others, she would stay with her boy because he loved her, and that would be that, and life would go on for the two of them as it had before; business as usual. Still, for the moment, things were as they were, and so she looked at the boy, and let him kiss her, and lay down on his lap, looking up at him and smiling. “What are you going to tell your girlfriend?” “I don’t know. Either the truth or a lie, I guess.” “Don’t lie to her.” “Won’t she be angry at me?” “Yeah. But don’t lie to her. Trust me.” “What are you going to say?” “I’m going to tell the truth. But I’m going to leave some things out.” “Isn’t that lying?” “Not if you can justify it to yourself.” “I feel like you’re confusing me right now.” “You should tell your girlfriend the truth. She deserves to know everything, and if you ever want her to forgive you and stop being angry, then that’s what you need to do.” “I know, but I’m scared.” “I know. But you’re still here; and that says something.” The Boy looked at the Girl, and he wanted to respond, but he had nothing. Instead he lay down next to her, and held her. “I guess you’re right.” He said, and then rolled over with a sigh.
I got in on Saturday, right? No. Friday. Yeah, it was Friday afternoon because I didn’t have class then. I remember now. I got on the wrong bus, and I missed the stop for Ann Arbor, and I ended up near East Lansing, and I had to take a cab back. Why did I forget that? I got so drunk that night, I got lost. I remember that. I got lost and my phone went dead, and I had to have a security guard from the school help me back to Joe’s house so I could sleep again. But that wasn’t last night. That was the night before last night. That was different. That was just prep for that. Yesterday was when it started, really. I woke up early and had a beer. Joe handed me the beer, and I drank it because, why not, it looked like it tasted good. Then I had nine more. Then I had Jell-o shots and whiskey, and some more beer. It wasn’t even nine yet, in the morning; my camera barely had enough light to expose my pictures, what was I doing? It was a lot of fun. I got really happy. I remember now.
The Boy reached for his shirt, and he pulled it on, over his head. He had to go, and he knew it, and he was taking the initiative to make it known that he intended to. He reached for his pants and he put those on too, but he put them on slowly, in the hopes that the Girl might have stopped him before he did, but she did not. Then he sat back down on the bed and he looked at her. “Are you going to leave now?” She asked. “Most likely.” “Ok. Do you know where you have to go?” “Not really.” “I’ll show you.” “Ok.” The Girl grabbed a map off of her wall, and she took a marker from her desk and drew a line from one dark block to another. These were her building and Joe’s house. She explained to the Boy how to get back where he wanted to go, and she handed him the map. “I don’t need to take this, what if you need it?” “I already drew on it.” “Are you sure?” “Take it.” The Boy felt almost embarrassed. This girl had been nothing but nice to him, and now he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and hang out with her some more, and he wanted to forget about Melissa, and Joe, and his home, and his school. He wanted to stay, but he knew, finally, that he couldn’t. So he put on his jacket and he stood in front of the Girl, only inches away, neither of them touching the other, despite the very minimal distance separating their bodies. “Thanks for the map then.” The Boy said, and the Girl giggled. “Don’t worry about it, get out of here!” “Ok then. Should we let each other know what we do?” “That sounds like a good idea.” They exchanged numbers. “This *****.” The girl said. “What?” “Now I’m going to miss you.” The Boy’s heart broke a little bit. He smiled, but he didn’t dare say the same thing back to her. Instead, he moved his hand up to her face and stroked her cheek a little bit, then gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and opened the door behind him. “I’ll see you.” “Ok.” “Let me know what you tell him.” “I will. You let me know too.” “Sure.” The boy stood staring at the Girl a bit, and then he left and closed the door behind him. As he waited for the elevator to open up for him, the boy took out his phone and looked through his recent text messages. There was one from Melissa, asking him how he was doing, and if he’d been having fun in Michigan, but he deleted it reluctantly, so that it looked as if his last message had been from Joe. It read: Are you coming back to the house tonight? He answered now, a few hours later: I’m sorry. I’m coming back now.
The morning was pretty crazy. Game day, Ohio State, how could it not have been? But I was good during the morning, and I intended to be good. Didn’t I? Yes I did. I did look around, and I spoke to a few other girls, but I never intended to do anything with them. Only this one. I didn’t even get into the game. I tried to sneak in with a student ticket, and they didn’t let me in because I wasn’t a student. Instead I went back with Joe and we got ****** and watched TV and then I took a nap after we smoked a cigar together. At the parties, people stood on the roofs, and they danced around massive kegs, and I spoke to some people I had just met and flirted and danced, but I was good, and at Joe’s house, after the parties were over, we just got ****** and smoked cigars and watched the game and waited for phase two of Saturday to begin so we could rest. Phase one was getting wasted. Phase two was rest. We built up our energy so we could go back out at night, for Phase three, and that’s when I met her, at some party Phil got us into. I had seen her before, back home, and we had spoken only a few times. Why had I been so angry at Melissa when I left New York again? Respect issues or something, wasn’t it? She had said something cruel to me while we ate dinner at that jazz club, and the lights made her soft skin glow so that she looked almost translucent. I reacted. I think it started because she had been flirting with a friend of mine. Anyway, I thought she had been. She claims she wasn’t. Then she got angry and she said something cruel to me so I got angry, and then she apologized a lot. She apologized so much, Her lips pouted. I wanted to kiss them. We had great *** that night. And I loved her. But I was still angry when I left for Michigan the next morning, and I was still angry last night, apparently. I guess that’s why I immediately gravitated towards that girl. She looked really beautiful that night also. And I always did have a crush on her. And I was still angry.
The Boy made it to Joe’s house at about a quarter to three in the afternoon that Sunday. He only had a little time left before he had to leave for his plane, but he spent it well. They smoked, and they got ******, and they smoked cigars and they talked about the night. Joe helped the Boy remember some of what had happened, like when the Girl’s friend got sick on the wall, and then the Girl had to leave to go help her, and when the Boy had broken a table by jumping on it too hard after Joe and some friends had challenged him. Joe barely remembered those things, but he remembered them better than the Boy, and the Boy was grateful for Joe then, who also reminded him of another thing: “You cheated on Melissa, didn’t you?” “I guess I did. I don’t feel great about it.” “I thought you two had separated. I would have stopped you.” “We were. We got back together about a week ago.” “Are you going to tell her?” The Boy thought about it. He hadn’t quite made up his mind yet. “I suppose that would be the honorable thing to do.” “Honor kills.” “Not if I’d been honorable at the beginning.” “True.” The two sat thinking for a while, and they both could tell the other had plenty more to say, but they both waited for the other, and so neither of the two spoke a word for a little bit. Finally, the Boy took a pull from his cigar, set it down, and opened his mouth. No words came out the first few tries, but after a while, he got better, and then he spoke. “I feel like my father.”
I couldn’t help myself I guess. It’s in my genes, this endless tail-chasing. Even though I had always thought I was the noble one, the one with honor, I’m still an animal, like my dad and his dad and his family before him. She looked so good, I don’t know how I held back for so long—she in her tight pants and that green shirt that made her eyes pop, and her long, beautiful, silky brown hair, and the way she moved her hips against me. I could almost hear her name in the music, like it was egging me on, like it was encouraging me to kiss her. I kept getting beers, just kept going to the bar, two more, one more, three more, until I was drunk enough to do it, because I wanted to because it’s in my blood. Then I kissed her, or she kissed me. I can’t remember how, but it happened, and not for a second did I feel remorseful. Not until this morning. I was too busy having fun. In a way, I kept telling myself a kiss was nothing, at least nothing to worry about. Then I went home with her. That’s probably the part I’ll leave out in my story. Her bed was really comfortable, much better than the couch or the floor, which is where I spent the night before, and where my sides had picked up bruises from the beer cans all around me. She smiled at me funny then. She hadn’t smiled at me that way before. Her teeth were really white, and her lips were really soft. I had seen her before, and we had always flirted before, so she made a joke about it being almost like fate that we ran into each other. I remember thinking that that was probably true, or at least that it would be my excuse for not stopping myself. Her skin was too soft, and her body was blessed with perfect curves and I couldn’t resist myself. In many ways, she felt like Melissa. I almost felt at home, like there was a comfort to it. I, on the other hand; well I’m not sure how I got so lucky. I just had to be myself—even as goofy and as hairy and as drunk as I was, she still liked me for the night. And she didn’t make me feel like I had to earn her respect either. But I’m being cruel. Neither does Melissa. Not often anyway; and I’m sure if I spent enough time with the Girl, she may have made me feel that way also. It may even be a girl thing, but at the moment, it felt like it was a Melissa thing, and this girl liked me very much, and I wasn’t even trying.
Now it was time for the Boy to go home. Even if he wanted to stay, even if he wanted to go back to the Girl, and spend the rest of the day with her, between her legs and in her arms, and smoke cigars with Joe whenever he wanted and get drunk Saturday mornings, and just forget about telling Melissa anything, it was time for him to go back to New York where he belonged. So he packed his bags and walked to the bus stop, and he put his hat on, and he got ****** with Joe one more time, and they both walked together, without saying a word, because they didn’t even have to. At the bus stop, Joe turned to the Boy and said: “Did you make a decision yet?” “About what?” “You know, you stooge!” “Not yet.” “Well let me know then.” The Boy nodded. The two had a hug by the bus as it arrived, and then the Boy got on the bus and fell asleep on the way to DTW. The flight was short, and it was easy. Still, the Boy kept thinking about what he would do when he got to New York. Once back at Newark, he took the train, and on the way back to Penn station he sat next to a large man with hairy arms, a mustache and a trucker hat. The man wore very thick-rimmed glasses, and spoke to anyone that listened, with a heavy drawl from some unidentifiable location. “What’s your name?” He asked the Boy. “Johnson.” He replied, having decided not to give his real name. “Well Johnson, let me tell you. Don’t ever travel without alcohol.” The man reached into his jacket, and he pulled a 24-ounce can of beer out in a plastic bag. He opened it up and took a swig from it, and then proceeded to lecture the Boy about the struggles and pains of traveling and marriage. He had lost his wife only a year ago, after he’d
my mind doesn't work right when it has to and i come home to sulk never anymore, to do and yes. i am angry
i am too sad to cry too angry to yell not ready yet, to speak.
i wish my hands could speak for me but they're bound and with every struggle, it is tightened
im starting not to see anything beyond this i blink and im here again pinch myself and im still here you always wake up from sleep
and alright, I don't have the guts to **** myself my mother has drilled hell in my brain like a nail but hell isnt a place its a feeling a presence or a lack there of.
and so yes i am angry. ive played so many songs on wordless strings strung chords to sound like sobbing and for what? i am still angry and tomorrow i will be angry i will blink, and still ill remain angry and when you wake up from your slumber, you will stretch out the feeling in your bones relish in the last seconds of moonlight you will look outside, see the sun, see the people, see yourself, and you will still be angry. you will be played unfairly and be angry. you will always remain the way you are.
it a scary thing to face alone, anger, or bitterness. but perhaps the scariest of them all, is the length we will go to escape it.