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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: House of Ghosts

There’s two kinds of anger,

The wet and the dry.

Wet anger is unexpected,

Rageful sobs rattling ribs,

Wanting to curl in on yourself,

Wondering if you can ever be happy again

Drowning in tears,

That you aren’t even sure should be

Streaming down your face.

It’s the kind of anger

When you care too much,

And the other person cares too little.

When you’re young and don’t yet fear the serpent,

It’s bite soon teaches you to be wary of its fangs.

Likewise, wet paint only lasts for so long,

Before drying up and crumbling away.


Dry anger is brittle,

Being disappointed by someone

You’ve come to know that you should

Never trust.

Stony cold faces

And expressionless feelings.

Numbness settles in.

Tumbleweeds tumble,

Fashioned of soul-set resentment,

Useless regrets.

Over time, a void,

Where caring once crept.

Wet anger laid too long,

Became waving heat.

It’s sting only stung for so long,

Until you learned

To bounce it away.

Like poignant arrows off a shield.

Where wounds used to reopen,

Now lies a canyon of scars.

Your heart became a castle

With too many guards.


Submitted: September 04, 2018

© Copyright 2021 Thalia Bronwen. All rights reserved.

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