Rage

Anger is not a pretty emotion for a pretty girl like you, 

and hate is a strong word, far stronger than what you feel. 

I have grown in a world cultivated by fear

Fear of attack, of emotion, of understanding and knowing what it has done.

I have grown into the fear of being a woman, 

of being queer

of exsisting in a space that the world says I should be thankful to have. 

I was, and am 

a Precocious child. 

My teachers hated me with kind hearts because, 

here is a child that knows, that understands what I am teaching, 

but she is far more interested in books about dragons. 

I am thankful, to that first music teacher, 

who made me put the page down and open my eyes

to the rythym of the world 

and the scars on her left hand from her love. 

I am thankful to her, because she is the one who made me rage.

Violence was always present, but ignored in my younger years.

I sheltered my eyes from the tragedies of the world, 

I do not anymore. 

Rage has always been clawing at my door,

creeping from under my bed, 

and hiding in my closet. 

It has always been waiting for me to open my eyes and notice, 

to realize that perhaps hate is, just this once,

just the right strength. 

I hate the state of our world,

I hate that I walk with keys clenched in my hands at night, 

I hate that I have been taught how to survive from birth, even when I didn't know. 

But most of all, 

I hate that my sister wil have to learn these lessons. 

I hate that my mother already has.

I hate that my cousins, and aunts, and friends are all 

scared and 

stressed 

struggling to know whether it is safe to go out. 

Rage has found its place in my heart, radiating out. 

Rage is the reason that, 

I get back up and I punch harder. 

Rage is why I am in college

Fighting for change and action 

Because I am tired of walking with keys and mace.

I choose instead to walk with rage.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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