Getting Anger Wasted

A poetic re-telling of how I am handling the first stage of grief.

Sitting at the Anger Bar a stewing.

Dishing and venting with the bartender,

An urge to have another round, brewing.

Fighting the anger-holism overtaking

*

Me. Where the last round “tastes(sh) like anothers,”

And this is where the real trouble begins…

Drunk on power, sole focus my druthers

Slurring amidst an apoplectic fog.

*

Struggling to form coherent words and phrases

With points to make, internal fight ensues.

Self-compassion saunters in and erases

The bottomlessness of my roiling rage.

A wildcat has its mouth wide open bearing its teeth with its eyes squinting shut.
Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/nature-summer-yellow-animal-55814/

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Queer Writer & Poet | Sex and Sensuality | Health and Wellness Interests | Personal Experience | LINKTR.EE/TOLBERTMBB | Instagram @tolbert_on_medium

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