Anger

My anger sits just below my sixth rib.

Nestled next to my heart, 

the rage has easy access to my bloodstream.

My anger utilizes that location well.

It spreads like a lit match dropped in kerosene.

Acetone must run through my body

how fast the outrage burns.

So blistering is my anger,

it never brakes.

This is the woman in me.

the primal rage I was given at birth,

the fury who’s clenching roots will be integral

until I die and material roots replace its patterns.