You fill me with rage
Violent passionless rage
The kind that, so that,
I don’t care, I don’t do anything
I sit, I don’t think, I
Move, but only a bit
Only to the bathroom, and
The kitchen, and sometimes to
Call a friend. To ask
If I am as bad as you make me
Think that I am. They say I am not.
Then, you say, people just
Let me be bad, they are
Afraid of me. You exploit
My fears. You know that I am
Afraid of scaring people,
I showed you that, and now
You say, I scare people
So that, maybe, so that,
You will always have me thinking
That you are the only one
Brave enough to confront me
Or that, maybe that,
You will have power over me
Here, in this instance, revenge,
Maybe revenge. I don’t believe it.
I don’t know what to believe
You have me here not thinking,
Not laying claim to any actions
Or any emotions or anything that’s
Come up, or passed over, or felt
I don’t remember.
I don’t remember
picking up this pen
I don’t remember
being moved to write,
I can’t recall the first line.
Or, what I wanted to get at,
The heart of it, the emotion,
The way I wanted to move and
How I wanted
to be moved,
Carried, taken somewhere, showed
That things were good, or not bad,
Or at least not scary,
I don’t remember
How I got here.
The steps I took,
Or what I passed along the way.

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