Old Anger


United States

I get bitter when I think about you

Skin burning

Blood convulsing just below the surface

Angry not that you are gone

But at the way you left.


When I hear your name said and the bitter words are not mine

I stand in your defense

It seems that whatever part of me that is still twitterpated over you enjoys rearing its head only to make me look like a love drunk fool.


I am no love drunk fool and I never was.

Girlishness-daydreams and laughter-these are not foolish, only recognized as so.

Love is not foolish.


It is foolish, though

To lock in the anger I keep for you.

I hold it as tenderly as I might’ve held you because I am afraid to break it.


I do not want my anger to break because then

I will be left with tenderness

Like the soft spot I grew for you that will never go away

Like gentle touches etched into my chest like a scarlet letter.


I must be brave enough to expose the tenderness you left me with in order to drop the harshness of this anger.

I will be brave enough to let go of this resentment. 






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