Poetry?

Anger

I used to never let myself be angry. 

I was terrified of my own anger- of my own power. 

It’s always been in me. 

I know it’s part of me. But for so long it felt like my anger did nothing but exhaust me and my life was exhausting enough.

Why add to it?

Instead, I’d survive. 

I’d get over it or rename it sadness, or stress, or exhaustion but I’d never call on my anger. 

I was taught that anger was dangerous-

That anger would make you less attractive, less understood, less respected, just less.

I was taught that feeling anger was a weakness.

That anger only brought violence and pain-

That anger was unsafe.

Learning to honor the range of my emotions without shame has been a painful struggle. 

My anger has saved me. 

My anger has taught me self control and self respect. 

My anger has looked me in the eye and told me that I needed to leave. 

My anger has given me the strength to make decisions that my past “people-pleasing” self could not have made.

My anger is not violent or scary. 

She is strong and she takes no bullshit. 

My anger looks at me and says that I am whole as I am and anything that questions, doubts, or fears me, is not for me.  

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I’ve never shared my poetry but this feels good. I might do it again.