Heart Of Anger Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Lying down under six feet of dirt with no way of hearing
what I have to say, anger fills this heart as I walk away,
why didn't you ever let me speak my mind? Were you afraid
of what I might say?

Hatred fills me now because I never got a chance to tell you
or have you tell me, I love you for who you are.

Your son, you my mother, have we no claim to each other than
the hatred we piled up, the grudges we kept intact, the
angry conversations, hanging up, the silence we thought had
to be kept through the years.

We never bothered talking or understanding each other, now
you can't hear me, standing here still full of anger and
hate, there is no way to talk to you to get rid of this hurt
and guilt.

Carrying it inside, trying to hold it in, exhausts and controls
every thought, daring not to let it out for fear friends will
reject or misunderstand.

Isn't that what you have taught all these years? Have I
turned out just like you? Full of guilt, unbending, hurtful,
full of hate? Now letting you take over my life yet again?

While all the while thinking I'm doing it to spite you, having
only done it to myself, a carbon copy of the person I hated
the most, the person I wanted to love me, accept me for who
I was.

Now a carbon copy with no feelings or thoughts that are
really my own, only your ideas have grown and been nurtured
because I was too blind to see I was hurting only me when
refusing to talk to you even on the phone.

Hurting myself by not writing to you what I felt or what I
needed to hear from you.

Refusing to admit that I am at fault too, a mother and son
going through life ignoring God's commandment to love one
another as yourself.

All the while proclaiming we are Christians, hating, refusing
to let go and love each other, staring at the dirt covering
your grave, seeing it was all so meaningless.

Depriving myself, maybe, of ever finding your love, of ever
telling you how I felt, now I can only live with the guilt
that tears me apart and ruins all relationships with past
thoughts.

Piling flowers upon a cold heart's grave that is as empty
now as when alive, having no chance, no hope that love will
somehow survive the coming years with my own children.

Having no love to give, because never receiving it from a
mother, refusing to let myself even try to reach out to her,
keeping self locked away selfishly to spite her for not
caring enough to even hug me.