Without Apology

I am tired of pretending that anger is a flaw. It burns through me clean, and still they ask for smiles while standing knee-deep in the ashes. I wasn't born to swallow my tongue. I wasn't raised to fold myself just so others could stretch. There were days I begged to be seen, and when they looked, they flinched- as if the truth was too sharp to hold. But I've learned: the sharp things are often the most honest. I don't owe softness to the ones who only listen when I whisper