Angry Writing
Not unlike a leaf banging on the wall.
Spiky, light,
But there is nothing under the kitchen sink like that.
Tearing through the kitchen like a crack.
I write when I’m angry.
Yearning and bursting breaths.
Not unlike a caterpillar growing and hurting.
Morphing into an angry flash of light.
When I write in anger-
There is an odd anatomy attached to it.
Not unlike stepping on a spike with a shoe on…
And the shoe is so worn it went through…
Piercing, and it’s really only a scratch they say…
But I know things.
I’m a leaf: banging on the wall.
You don’t know what’s hurting.
But you’ll dry up before you figure it out.
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