Hot angry tears spill forth like lava, tracing rivers of shame
across the surface of my face, each miniature earthquake spasm
distorting the naturally calm face into a glowering grimace mask.
I am angry.
Vein pulsing, blood churning, hurricane seething mad.
Shoulders shake as shudders seize my body,
each silent shiver sending shock waves to my brain.
He slammed the door shut to shut up her words.
She slammed the words into my ears like sledgehammers.
We slammed ears shut against the silence,
the silence after the words was deafening.
I just want to slam shut the beating of my heart,
but to stop the hurt would stop my heart
because my contempt will always taste like grief.
Each broken heart and heavy dream I have passed
on this journey to being someone has chained me.
Roped me into a slavery so pure I could not be free,
so now I simply stagger forward armed with a smile.
I am angry.
But the chains make my anger impotent.
Unable to face my fears I combat the midnight horrors
that assault others, subsume their suffering to add
to my growing compendium of scars so that I can feel.
I was angry.
But I am fine now.
Just like I always am.
And always will be.
I am a Libra.
My contempt will always taste like grief.