Anger

I thought anger would feel like a wildfire
Red hot and scorching
Tearing through this slender frame
Flames licking the crisp air.
I thought the cry would be sharp and short
Piercing and defined
Smooth and steady. Like poison,
The color of a firetruck,
Sleek and slick and silky, rather than
Messy and matted and maimed.
Lies.
Anger isn't red, or yellow,
Or orange, for that matter. It is black,
Pitch-black and bitter and unforgiving.
There are no flames dancing across my skin.
Instead, my corpse is confined
In thick metal walls, shrinking times two
For every one push to escape. And
No matter how much that inky darkness,
That pain, seeps through my veins,
Thrusting at my coarse edges,
I am trapped in this cell of stone,
My messy, far-from-crisp
Animal screams and pleas unlistened.
My cracked lips fold themselves into an O,
Only met with deaf ears.
Begging for the darkness to swallow me whole,
I am trapped, misunderstood,
Alone, helpless, disregarded, silenced
Pushed, pulled, tossed, turned,
Blamed, abused, victimized, punished,
Priviliged, guilted, beaten, scarred,
Angry.