Ode to Anger
How I envy those who never get angry.
They sail through life like
calm little boats on a stormy sea,
or a turtle turned on its back
always able to right itself.
When the moment heats up
they never get heated. These poor slobs
take it on the shoulder, take it on the chin,
turn the other cheek, never adding insult
to injury. Who can rise above it all?
Me, I swallow hate like a balloon
Until it swells and distends inside of me,
makes me slam doors or yell octaves higher
than a human voice should scale. How good it feels
to let it all hang out. Sometimes I like
being petty. Feels better to break balls
than to be broken, better than being
the one who cries until the sobs stop
and the heaves start, until there’s nothing left
in the cave of my body but angry air.