Small and innocent I may appear,

But when angry, I'm able to strike fear. 

Rage isn't a righteous practice,

but for me it became a common habit. 

I seem to loose all demeanor and control.

It hurts my friendships, taking a toll. 

I'm working my actions and words,

being aware of by who they may be heard. 

Many circumstances have brought me to this conclusion, 

for so long, i was lost in delusion,

unable to recognize the power I held,

in the unkind words I would yell.

People who just wanted to love and support me,

I now see were pushed away by my hostility.  

Then I wondered why people walked on eggshells.

They wouldn't want to be the reason my bomb fell.



This poem is about: 


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