Angry. Bubbling up vengeful thoughts and chewing them back down before they pour out like tears.
Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, stop talking, we, no, I am tired of listening to you go on and on about what no one cares about except you putting all of us into boxes and deciding for us who we are and what we need and how we should spend our time don't label me don't order me don't talk to me because I am only rage and you are the cage that I cannot escape because no matter how much I want to hurt you I can't do it now is not the time the time will never come that I will allow myself to explode because I have the control that you have imposed on me all my life and it has become part of me so I will never escape it or you and that bites worst of all
But if I feed this it will never end, and capsuled hate hurts no one but me.
Channel it elsewhere.
This feels like poetry.
ReplyDeleteEsther, are you sure you aren't Spock?
This feels like him, a little. Like him in . . . "Observations," I think?