top of page

I too suffer from "ANGER ISSUES". Tad past temperamental.

Only few can relate.

Something or someone inside.

Introduced to this being at a young age.

Angry at the world, even God Himself, for abandoning my mother and I.

"Why?" I would ask.

Praying in weeps and wait.

Soon. Nothing. Sometimes no answer is the answer.

Then he would talk. In a whisper. The more I listened the angrier I grew. Enraged.

On occasion, in the midst of flaming murmurs, a second thought.

Bit different from the whispers. I couldn't discern the source or voice, only a faint light through a door cracked slightly in the distance.


A seed planted, deciding to use that anger as fuel to run as far away as possible.

Those torching grumblings would now singe away any loose threads of mediocrity from my robe of life.

I used displeasure as my protein for progress.

Those sips of rage often replenished, but came with a cost. I forgot to read the label.

Ask Dr. Banner.

That feeling? To have the very thing that makes you indispensable begin to torment you. The very weapon that strikes fear into the eyes of complacency, also cut you while you sleep.

Gamma rays seeping through your skin.

It becomes harder to forgive and easier to remember.

Heart turning green.

But in my rampages I've learned being blinded by emotion hides things most precious.

Busy being angry, couldn't recognize a blessing.

That lullaby.

Key differences between passionate and an angry fit.

Trading gamma rays for a guided way.

The light now stronger and those whispers faint. Distant.

Deliverance relies on dedication.

I wouldn't lie and say I'm completely free when my hands are green at this very moment.

I write with them.

But I'd rather my hands than my heart.

bottom of page