A poem about anger

Because sometimes we struggle to face what's inside us until it comes out masked as something else

I wasn’t sure what to title this, but I feel that the simplest words are the most honest. While I tend to go on flowy rambles, I realized I don’t always need clever or flowery language for what I most want to convey.

At least not in a title… But in a poem?

The more (flowery and illustrative) the better 😁

Sometimes I think of poetry as painting with words - especially poetry meant to be read aloud (which much of mine is). Sometimes done in a flurry of broad strokes and big emotions, and sometimes with fine and intentionally placed details.

As the title states, the poem I share with you today is about anger.

Anger tends to be the mask for many things, including our own unexpressed (or unacknowledged) pain. It’s something I fought so hard to avoid and suppress for much of my life, especially while being raised in a space where expressing anything other than what was light, respectable, and socially acceptable was met with condemnation and punishment. This continued into adulthood fueled by both a fierce desire to not perpetuate the violence done to me, and the overwhelming realization that I never learned how to give my anger an outlet.

It's easy to be angry. Anger can feel motivating, even empowering. It can feel like action, direction, power, control, safety...

But not vulnerability. It’s harder to be vulnerable. To be squishy and let your guard down, but that's what the pain needs from me, to be seen.

To be felt, to be known, to be real.

Not retribution or an uprising, not redemption or revenge, or building up my defenses, and not to take back the control that was taken from me, or to reverse the harm done when I had no agency.

I’m getting to know my anger better now, and will likely write more about this new relationship in the future as I unravel what it's trying to tell me.

But for now, here’s some feelings I gathered and typed onto a page with Eleanor - my new (to me) typewriter.

And here’s an imperfect recording of my voice for those who might sruggle to read it, or would like to hear how it’s intended to be read.

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A lot of firsts in this post - first time I’m publishing a poem on this platform, first time I used a typewriter for my writing, and first time I’ve recorded an audio of myself for you.

I hope this finds you in a space where you are safe to get to know and express your anger.

Thanks for being here with me.

Xoxo 🌿Rowan