Anger

by Samentha Charles

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A convenience I am,

I think not.

A fire that burns hotter than hell melts my head.

What to you I’m nothing but an expediency to be used and manipulated.

I think not.

7

A game piece now,

to be moved, juggled, manipulated, engineered, or controlled.

I think not.

The death of a thousand cuts injure me at the thought of a Benedict Arnold in my presence.

Am I your privy to forever take your $#*!?

I think not.  

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Though I feel that I am being ripped to pieces like a middle age execution cuz of the pain you have deposited on me,

I must let it desiccate into nothingness.

You think I will keep it all inside let it accumulate blunderly,   

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2

I think not.

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