forgive her, she knows not what she does
You are anger now and have
become anger through anger.
The tight-lipped woman blowing
smoke into my lungs
and soul. It’s foggy now
and sits silently inside me.
You are what I hate and what
I love, a cloud that hints at rain
but never does, a woman with
two mouths and two hearts
to match them, growing
always growing, a small tree
inside me where leaves fall.
Seasons change dear, but the tree’s
still there and so to the anger
quiet as a virgin bullet, I cannot
chop it down myself before
it pushes out and through
eyes, a nose, and a branch splits
the tongue and there’s a knot
growing into a hard heart. You
are the axe, the down swing, the
feeling of letting go, the burning
fire that ate up the anger
in the night.
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