In the past few years it seems like the anger I hold just keeps getting bigger and scarier. I hold so much anger that sometimes I don't even know how I function without breaking. It's not that "I'm going to break your fucking face" kind of angry. More like angry at life and the things I've had to go through. Even just saying that I feel guilty. Compared to a lot of people I have a pretty lush life. But it is MY anger and if I want to feel sorry for myself...I will. I'm not going to bring anyone else down but myself...so why not? I've written countless poems about ambiguous anger, blunt anger, sad anger...every form of anger. I hate that I have this much anger. I hate emotions, I hate showing them, and I hate feeling this weak. But in all honesty, I'm broken. Most days I wake up and I don't know who I am or who I want to be. I feel like I have to be present for people so I don't make them uncomfortable and so I don't have to explain anything. I try and listen to people when they talk to me but most of the time I'm somewhere else.
In the past few years I've lost a lot of people. Through death and through "losing touch" (such a corny phrase). And not all the kind of "good death". AKA lived a long life and were old. Aunt Gloria was brutally murdered and I didn't even get see what the color of my beautiful niece Reagans eyes were. Not fair. No first words, hugs, kisses, snuggling, no life at all. Just thoughts of what might have been...which are the cruelest thoughts of all.
And In regards to Reagan I've accumulated even more anger. Stupid anger that doesn't make any sense at all. I HATE IHOP. Wanna know why? Joey invited us to the ultrasound when we found out what Reagan was and afterward we went and ate IHOP. That should be a positive memory and I fucking hate IHOP now. I hate seeing the sign, commercials, anything about it. I hate going to every fucking store and going past isles and isles of racks that are infested with pink clothes. I hate my dreams that constantly have babies in them. I hate hearing about peoples babies. That one hurts me a lot. I should be happy for other people but in all reality I'm not. I don't wish their baby died but I don't want to hear about them, either.
I'm angry about being angry.