#poetry about anger

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

[wooftphr]

[grackles-hoard]

Men when their anger is treated like a bad dog <- it’s me I’m men.

Idk I feel like respecting boundary isn’t hard to do, and it’s kinda the basic requirements for interacting with other humans, but maybe I’m tripping and that’s not right.

[memoriesndew]

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Spite

-

And I never did any of it out of love,

But for the overwhelming desire

To feel more than human.

To be more than the sum of these

Rusty parts-

I clawed my way through dirt and blood,

Chewed the insides of my cheeks

Until they resembled gunmetal.

If I was not worthy

Of creation;

Born of sins I had not committed and forced to pay reparations-

I'd rip myself apart

Along with any who dared

To see the gentleness within me.

Suffocate the longing until all that remained

Was shining,

And more deserving of life

Than you.

x

[crowfromfoggyforest]

Rumbelle x Is/Not by Margaret Atwood

(aka part 1 of me turning my Rumbelle poetry analysis ramblings into something remotely interesting)

[psyche-tips-the-candle]

I hate that you weren't there. I don't know how to forgive you for it. You said that you'd look after me; you lied. You didn't. I was alone, the whole time, wishing you'd come back for me. You never did.

You never will.

[rineedagger]

I am sorry, but I don't have time to fight and treat dead things like if they were alive. I'll be the bad one you decide: The bad friend who gave up out of spite (in spite of trying to keep it real, ours), or the bad friend who uses "mental illness" to excuse all the crap.

I won't keep investing when there are no ears to listen the aches of my side. I will maintain my feet on my belief, where oversharing and overexplaining are just as painful and nonsensical as trying to validate myself based of your level (and choosing) of understanding.

Is it even fair to not respect what you can't seem to understand? Wait, I'm remembering just now about how badly we talked behind our friend's back, yeah, the one with a serious mental illness that bothered you just as much because she didn't fit inside your narrowed sight.

Do you expect me to believe that you don't think the same about me, when I've been scolded for been sick? Specially after trying to make me feel bad for "not writing you every day or night" just like "true friends are supposed to do" or "social people does", almost like if there is only one way to do it right.

I deleted all my alibis, forwith I don't seek to be right. I just want to live a healthy, humble and authentic life, and I will never ask you to change for that. I'll leave or I'll stay, but never demand you what doesn't come from your insides.

And yes, I can change my mind and my heart as much as I decide. I don't need anyone's permission for that. Hell, I can't conceive a life without doing that. I am who I am now, but there has been many more, and I am proud for that.

There is only one person who deserves to cut my tongue and keep my mouth shut. To kneel for and apologize (yes, I've been mean and unkind). And it isn't your eyes the ones the ones that come to mind.

I am sorry to be so personal this time. Yes, I've been unkind, but I'll remain loyal to my heart.

[hauntedbythenarrative]

Ask Polly: What does love feel like//A Lot To Be Mad About, Kiki Nicole//Home Is Not a Country; “haitham”, Safia Elhillo//The Chronology of Water, Lidia Yuknavitch//Vesuvius, Amber Sparks

[squishykitty825]

A bullet in the heart

Tragedy strikes when you least expect it

Raking its claws down your soul

Gouging deep gashes into your heart

Tragedy strikes when all seems right in the world

Ripping into you mercilessly

Tearing apart the happiness you fought for

Tragedy strikes faster than a viper and harder than a cannon

Shredding your thoughts to ribbons

Shattering your protective barriers

Tragedy can strike at any moment, piercing you like a bullet in your heart

Breaking your careful composure and leaving you bereft and reeling,

Sobbing on the floor screaming and clutching your chest

Death takes a heavy toll

And it doesn’t stop

It takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left to give

Until you are nothing more than a broken person staring into a shattered reflection of yourself

[vanx-97]

Too broke, beer bottle ashtrays

Lose control, Xanax every Saturday

new dope to deal with past mistakes

I'm tryna stay high until I pass away

300 a week just to get lit

Walk the streets, got a car that needs fixed

Nothing to eat, glad I don't have kids

Be a broken family if I ever did

Roaches in the microwave, bugs in the bed

Nose is a passage way for drugs to my head

Coexist with massive pain, I'm such a mess

Hopeless and mad ashamed, puff a cigarette

How are they so happy? Why not I?

Am I really worth it? Should I even try?

I think the universe wants me to die

Maybe it can all change if I stop getting high

(For the record, I am not about this life anymore. I have been clean from hard drugs for 4 years now. This is based on my past experiences and if you are in this place, please get help, love to everyone, thank you)

[coffeeandthoughtspoetry]

𝑖 𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝒉𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝒉𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑚𝑒. 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑐𝒉𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑚 𝑖 𝒉𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑖 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝒉𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒.

[lookninjas]

2298.

I get angry, though. And I get, I do get we put the anger somewhere safe and deal with the world in compassion as best we can but can we at least like acknowledge some days I need like ten or fifteen minutes to put the anger somewhere safe?

[strawberrybyers]

decided to transfer taylor’s playlists over into my own playlists so i could make my own descriptions using linda pastan’s poem “the five stages of grief” and art pieces throughout history as the covers

1. denial ; i love you, it’s ruining my life represented by “courage, anxiety, and despair: watching the battle”, james sant, 1850

2. anger ; you don’t get to tell me about sad represented by “fallen angel”, alexander cabanel, 1847

3. bargaining ; am i allowed to cry? represented by “the last day of pompeii”, karl brullov, 1833

4. depression ; old habits die screaming represented by “the martyr of the solway”, john everett millais, 1871

5. acceptance ; i can do it with a broken heart represented by “resting”, victor gilbert, 1890

[lemcrafters]

Cannibalism. Consumption as an act of love. Loving you, bones and all. You live in me and i, you, both of us surrounded by a home of flesh and bone. Eat my love, set me free. Love is about what's inside. Feeling you, down to the bone. Freeing you from bone. Your flesh in my teeth and my hand in your hand and your blood in my smile and my head on your thigh my lips on your spine my guts in your hands my heart on your tongue. I feel held by you. Keep carrying me with you. Love me. Be with me, like real people do. Hold my hand, have all that's left. It was yours anyway.

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Scarlet Rot

-

I hold resentment down until it is filtered through my blood,

Making my body ache.

My heart races even at rest,

My stomach full of the words

I just can't seem to scream right,

And the ones that do manage to claw their way out of my throat-

Only whispers.

Only pleas.

Finding only deaf ears,

Returning to force their way back past my lips,

To fester with the rest of them-

I wanted you to give a single solitary fuck

About the way you've changed me,

But you didn't.

And the rot.

It spreads.

x