When I’m angry with you
I want to be around you
I want to stand in front of you
and say: look at me I’m
angry.
Look at me, I don’t know why, or what
I want to say. I swear there’s
been our story that’s been
written and rewritten in my head and the
way it always ends is in anger.
I don’t have the energy
to retell these chapters
I’ve laid out so carefully,
so maddeningly womanly. I
do not think you’ll listen.
I open my mouth and your armour
is ready it seems, since yesterday.
It is always about me, it seems
all day, and I never seem to think
of you at all.
I could have sworn
I’ve waited so long to say this
just this once.
And I am always accusing you wrongly
And I am always poorly misled
And I am always creating a fuss for nothing,
all in my head. And I am always painting
the wrong picture, making you too grand
or making you a monster. I don’t remember
doing any of those things, but what if
you are right?
I look at you, I cannot make my anger
be, my resolve is weak, and the heart
so pulpy tender. Who am I to judge,
even if it’s about me? ? My anger
doesn’t make much of a case.
And you with
your own problems. And I stop to colour me
martyr. I am proud of how very
little I need. I will take this down
to skin and bones if need be. I do not want to be
mean to you, I whisper. I sniffle quietly,
so as not to be heard.
I fear this has been years
of emotional abuse, if I could just
explain. It couldn’t have been
that bad. I don’t know.I look at you,
I have nothing to say. I follow you to
tell you: I’m angry.
