My angers come to me too easily.
I never show them, their faces are ugly, like Mars,
Crimson, filled wrinkles of mountains and rivers
Long since vanished,
And their voices are like the sounds from freezers
Deeper than they'd ever need to be,
Colder than they'd ever need to be,
And their words are infantile,
Mono-syllablic, ill-said and mostly meaningless.
I never want them around and I'm never glad when they're gone, not really.
Some of these angers know that they're justified
And then some of these angers actually are justified;
I never know which is and which isn't until the years and years have gone
And any reason, justified or unjustified has long since passed.
Some of the time the angers come when I realize it's been too long
Since my lips touched other lips,
Since I've seen another person as naked,
Naked in body, with all their worts and their hairs, their sizes and their guises,
Naked in spirit, saying what I don't know,
Not saying thing what I'll already know,
Since I called someone mine
And since someone called me theirs.
Some of the times the angers come when I'm reminded of money;
Of how I have it for what I want
And never for what I need;
Of how it can't be burned when I want to forget about it in the most splendid way
And how it can't be found when I remember it's as much part of me
And you and all the other yous
As is the bacteria in our bodies;
Of how I never know what to feel
When I give it to someone on the street begging their dignity away
For another bread or another bud;
Of how it chose the bed on which I was made on,
The hospital which I was born in,
The schools I wanted to leave,
And of how it'll choose
The looks I'll have, to certain extents,
The gifts I'll give to my loved ones,
The looks I'll get from others, to certain extents,
The medicines that'll sustain my life
And the medicines that'll fail at that,
Where I'll be buried and if I'll be buried,
And so much of what I can give after I'm gone.
I've hurt too many with my angers,
Made them know that the glare of my eye
In its moment of distress and
Has more gravitational pull than the blackest, widest black hole.
I don't even know where the anger stems from,
Not really.
I don't know what tragedies have justified them,
Which losses gave them room in my mind.
I don't know if the angers are one anger or many angers
Or how to rid myself of them.
I know very little about them,
But I know they do sometimes mean good.
I know that if I have an emotion this strong then there are others just as strong,
That there things I'll fight against and for,
That my heart beats to the point of hurting,
That I can write any poem of any length when I'm passionate enough,
That I can do good, that I will do good.
