I don’t have words for the rage that I carry. It sits inside my soul, a fire that consumes.
I carry a cold star behind my breastbone. There are days where it feels like I have two choices. I can let it burst, supernova. Let my starlight white out my vision and consume my world.

Or I can implode, black hole. Turn that fire into nothing so I can drown in it. Pull all the ugliness and ire into myself. Protect the ones around me by pulling everything in and burying it down. A walking magnet for the dark.

There are days when I can let off little flares of anger. Tiny bursts that burn through the ones around me. Let it burn through their criticisms and judging eyes. Let it burn through their own hate and ignorance. Let it light the way for new growth. Anger can be hate, but it can also be righteous.

So, I carry the rage in my body. I hope I can use it for change. I carry the signs for the causes I believe in. I write letters and poetry. I scream into the void and hope there is something listening. I rage and rage and rage.