my baby cousin sees the bottle of meds in my bag
and he asks if they’re for anger,
because all I’ve ever known is exploding, destroying, and setting everyone around me on fire.
all I’ve ever done
is leak out like a dripping faucet,
try to repress the side of me,
but she crawls out
and consumes me.
because all I’ve ever known is hostility, hatred and aggression,
I’ve seen it all too well in my mother,
like a mirror,
like a mirror I want to smash into pieces,
hating the person I become,
and who I’ll always be.
yet all I’ve seemed to do is implode, self destruct and burn this body to the ground,
yet still manage to singe
all of the unsuspecting bystanders
that cluster around me
like a barrier of protection.
because anyone who gets too close
knows I’m nothing more than rage,
nothing more than a face,
nothing more than an empty casket
drowning in her own lake.