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