Author Information
Anger Management
At some point the walls must break,
The floodgates will open,
A torrential downpour wreaking destruction,
And they say emotions are weak.
Who are you to say that my demons aren't real.
Who are you to say that I am broken.
Who are you to say that I am a child.
I was never a child.
My innocence was torn from me by a home headed by a man with PTSD.
I have been broken in the past, true.
I am not broken now, nor will I ever. Break. Again.
My demons are mine.
I know their names, I know their moods.
I know when they strike, the panic tearing me apart from within,
The facade of a blank expression outside hiding a mind split into pieces.
And you say that anxiety is not a real thing.
Is anything 'real' to you?
"mind split
into pieces" could be a bit disconcerting. My cool exterior belies my flaming interior and my adjacent points of view steam and freeze alternatingly. Occasionally, there is calm and my face is stormy and twisting uncontrollably, The wrinkles wrinkle. On the day countenance and emotional status are in sync, I will fall down and be finished - I found me in there lady - yrs in writing, Stella
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