Clench your fists

A poem about anger.

 

Clench your fists

Slit your eyes.

Tense your heart,

It’s about to collide

With the force

Of the armies

That were trained

To fight you.

 

The paradox

Of the tense:

It begets you

Fragile.

A blow

Will shatter

With no elasticity

To protect.

 

So we fight.

We will fight.

We will destroy.

Until one gives.

Until one crumbles,

Becomes a symptom

Of the illness

We live in.

 

So we fight,

For our existence,

Like our identity

Depends on it.

So we fight

For our places

And god protect you

Should you rest in it.

 

Our fists clench.

Our blood rises

To our heads

Until we lose ourselves

In the commotion.

No time to feel

What’s being said.

What’s meant by it.

 

Our eyes slit

So we can frame

Our friend

As our opposer.

Our supresser.

Our opresser.

The evil being

Who fucked me over.

 

And so we fight.

And so we throw

Our hatred

At our sisters.

We throw our weight

Through our words,

The power:

Like punches.

 

No support.

Our breaths

Are quick.

And shallow.

Light-headed,

Delirious,

We abuse.

We are confused.

 

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