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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 men, get more done, but angry men die very young

you see my dad was always getting angry, nobody knows why he did

you see he was waiting for the perfect time to stop treating me like a kid

you see dad was angry at me because i didn’t clean my computer table

and he also was angry at me for converting to the cindrella cleaning system

you see angry men get things done, but they also die very young, dad was young, at age 75

i miss his helpful side, by helping me understand the computer

like art colony, writers cafe, and hello poetry and FACEBOOK, man

you see i hated dads frown, you see angry people die very young

i am not one of those angry people, that is why i am frustrated

because people are trying to push my nice side up to space

and my evil side i want to get rid of, cause, i am not shy to look *******

but i am a complete normie, only nerds are angry, very angry nerds

they will die very young, very very young

i hated my dads angriness, cause he hyped me up

i knew dad would die first, because he show his happy side like me

i am not living in the past for anyone

dad was angry, he helped me with the computer, i say thanks to the paranormal dad

but i still thought that dad was a cranky man

hail to the yobbos the yobbos the yobbos

hail to the yobbos and the old cranky dad

i know dad isn’t teasing, but he is an old cranky dad

i am the happiest dude in canberra, happier than anyone

i help the poor, i help the poor

an old cranky dad sits there up on cloud 9 wanting

pat has powers to take old hags out of people

old hags who are trying to be cool kids




i am a cool young dude, i have a lot of fun
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'

Devin Weaver Feb 2013
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
Mariam Shittu Dec 2017
I am angry, very angry
Angry at the world
Angry at life
Angry at everything

I’ve been bitter, very bitter
Bitter you’re not here
Bitter you’re no more
Bitter you’re gone

I’ve been angry, just angry
Angry I couldn’t stop time
Angry I couldn’t heal you
Angry I couldn’t save you

I am bitter, just bitter
Bitter I had to let you go
Bitter I had to watch you go
Bitter I had to say goodbye

I’ve been angry, still angry
Angry because I miss you
Angry because I need you
Angry because I ache for you

I’ve been bitter, still bitter
Bitter I lost my role model
Bitter I lost my best
Bitter I lost my biggest fan

I’m am angry, very angry
Even though you wouldn’t want me angry
Even though you wouldn’t want me sad
Even though you would want me happy
Achick Jun 2020
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’m not.

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.
bouhaouel zeineb Jan 2015
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
Jessica Jones Jul 2014
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 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.

Fallen tears.

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.
Eyithen Apr 2021
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.
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.
Jasmyn 'Ladi J' Jun 2013
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?!
Ariel Knowels Apr 2014
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 just really angry
Tracie Bulkley Sep 2014
I'm the next act on stage.
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
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
That had built up inside.

So I was mad
And I felt alone
Except for one thing
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.

And breathe.

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

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
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
That at the end of the summer
We would both be available
So that we could try again

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 ******
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
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
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
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

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
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
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?
Phim Aug 2016
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
evie marie Oct 2018
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.
Anastasia Apr 2022
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
Addie Kay Sep 2018
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
TS Jul 2017
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 can't shut it off or shut it out.

I am consumed.

I am angry.

Ariel Taverner Jun 2015
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
See 'the better me'
Field Of Moons Oct 2014
Angry am I for all the times I tried to hold your hand and you pulled it away.

Angry am I for wasting all my time on you, for all those memories made that you hardly recall.

Angry am I for forgiving you for hurting me (more than once).

Angry am I for being the only one there for you when you were weak.

Angry am I for taking your insults.

Angry am I for looking past your imperfections.

Angry Am I That She Is Your Everything And I Am Your Nothing.

So stop wondering where I am.
Stop wanting me back because You chose Her.

Angry am I that now you change your mind when its too late.......
Anya Aug 2018
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.
NitaAnn Oct 2013
******-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...
kay Mar 2014
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.
Shannon May 2018
im angry.

i have no right to be.

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 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
you warned me
and i can promise to be your saviour but im not sure
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.
mildew Jan 2019
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:


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.

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.
Em May 2014
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..
Written 3.20.14
Psychostasis Jun 2020
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"
BR May 2018
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

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.

I am an angry woman.
Softly spoken Oct 2011
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.”
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.
“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.”
“Let me know what you tell him.”
“I will. You let me know too.”
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.”
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
An original short story by Andoni Elias Nava 2010
simo Feb 2017
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.

be angry
be bitter
but always play fair.
feeling all of it today

— The End —