RAGE ©
Rage strikes.
It doesn't wait for the right time at all.
It creeps in when I'm reading
And fills my head with lightning bolts and clouds my vision
So that I see double or triple or not at all.
It pounces when I am at work, gripping my arms
Squeezing every muscle
So that I want to break - break myself
Break whatever I'm holding
Break the world, break you.
It slithers over me when I am still
Or when I am active- as I walk or as I drive.
It oozes into every pore and tingles every nerve ending.
I want to scream, but I can't, because this is not the time or place.
I want to cry but I can't, because it will upset someone.
I want to hide, but I can't, because there is nowhere to hide.
It is there when you reach through to me
When you touch a memory, when you come too close.
It is there when I do something wrong or something right;
When I lose myself or care for myself;
When I forget who I am or when I try to be me.
It comes before and during and after -
After I have done some deep work,
Before a new event, during a quiet moment.
Rage strikes.
It is disguised as panic, as fear, as shame -
And it is my demon. It is my power.
I will take it by the hand,
I will take it to my inner source of strength,
I will dance with it, I will integrate it, I will own it.
I WILL be whole! |
