I can be inexplicably angry

and I believe this is not

the way to heal

open wounds.

 

The same volatile trigger

resides and may always linger

to force my hand

when such emotions

were not warranted.

 

Growing up is a battlewound.

On evenings, I find myself

drained,

too drained from the worries

of physical upkeep,

all while simultaneously focusing

on what is really important

but an elder knows his advice

is hollow.

 

If the only way to survive

the feeding frenzy

is to not provide the bait,

then, I plea,

no longer make me the bait

to tackle.