Anger is a thing that I'm not so used to, but some days it seems as though it is my entire life. The worst part is that, though I am not too fond of it as a way to feel, part of that is because it feels sort of good, sort of satisfying, to hate and rage and want to gnash teeth and fuck somebody up and punch them and kick them and scream and stab because they don't know, and don't get it, and are wrong and mean and Fuck Them Anyway.

It is like that, standing here at the precipice of pain and hatred and anger, and wanting to cry and fight but biting down on the things that want to billow up over the tongue because it's the right thing to do.

I think it's because I have swallowed so much anger up to this point, swallowed it and tucked it away under my tongue and in the flaking, boiling, fucked up folds inside of my belly. Sometime it had to leak out in jagged, streaking bolts. Sometime it had to seethe forth.

Sometime, the wild lion-girl with all the teeth had to burst out of the old-man skin and roar, and rend, and run.

<<agé chose>>

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