RAGE COASTER
I know this feeling
is as unhealthy as cigs, whiskey shots
and funnel cake fries dipped in chocolate, but I don't know
what to do with it. This desire
to sink my digits into your flesh
and rend you in two, then stitch you back
together as a person who gets it. Bludgeon
you bloody until you state, "Oh wait,
I see
you are right and have been all along."
I don't know how not to hate you
when you don't do your job
because you think you're too pretty
to carry your own load,
or too vindictive and lazy
to do anything other than look
like a knock-off reality
TV star.
I can't seem to shed
the want to break your face
bones with a heavy object, a sledgehammer
or a medium-ish statue of cowboy on horseback
when you only value
those you've knocked
back a drink or a fuck with. This rage
that tears from my toes
to my split ends, but mostly rests
in my shoulders and chest, wants me to explode.
It doesn't want me to look
in the mirror. It doesn't want to hear about
hypocrisy, personal flaws, or God
forbid the idea of a kinder path.
I struggle
like a child
because I don't yet know
how not to hate you for being you,
and myself for feeling
this way.
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