Confession of Anger

Skin rough and smooth at the same time, it catches at
every imperfection, each irritation, swells
with righteous confidence, bruises itself, and that
is what rubs things raw, stiffening the thick lapels
with hot, sticky, sweet-smelling starch that saws away
at any exposed flesh, scoring a blurred pink line ā€”
a welt, that demands and gets attention. So, bray
with harsh laughter. Did you get what you want? It’s fine?
Oh, no, it’s not. A welter of purpose focused
on the easy answer, behind which roils a fog
of misunderstood motivation unnoticed
and ignored. Is it time? Have a hair of the dog
that bit you. You look great, darling. Anger suits you.
So do welts. It’s time. You’re right, remember? Your due.

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3 responses to “Confession of Anger

  1. This is anger alright. Very cleaver to compare it to clothing scraping on raw skin. I have participatedin these exchanges feels quite yukky.

  2. I never know what I’m going to write. For one of these poems I started it in the morning and nibbled away at it all day. Most days, I get to 11 at night, as I did last night, with a sense of panic, saying, “What am I going to WRITE?!” Then I put my head in my hands and pray. So far, something comes, but thank the Lord I have help with these, because I sure couldn’t do it by myself!

  3. Pingback: Confession Series, 2012 #NaPoWriMo #30in30 | Rosefire Rising

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