To Them I'm Crazy
I’m a crazy woman. To them I’m crazy. Obsessed with my anger. They think it chokes me in my sleep, it oozes as I walk, leaving a trail of disgust in my path. But this anger is who I am. What I must be. It cannot be left in a corner, forgotten, like letters of the past covered in dust. This is my story and I will not forget. The hurt and the pain. The struggle and shame. Because if I forget no one will remember. No one will know or be there to tell this story. Anger. It isn’t a story of anger. But it’s a story of transformation. Of holding my anger, like a cherished organ, understanding that without this anger, I would not be this soon-to-no-longer-be lost girl. With anger oozing in her path. With change in her horizon. I would be the masses that for too long have been too helpless to leave. They lost they’re anger. Lowered their heads when they were told they shouldn’t want more. They should be happy with what they have. But I will not forget. I will always know. And that is what drives me.