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.
A Life I Choose 
Published by