Is it a flame so blue,
you almost can’t see it?
Or a bruise you want
to press, just to feel
the ache? White hot
or slow-burning gold,
spiked or smooth?
So many styles of rage,
so many ways to feel
angry—or not, as girls
were taight. Watching
the richtus of his mouth
tightening around his
ugly words, the feral
gleam in his eyes, and
the erratic nature of his
usually-infrequent
gestures, while, there
you are, on the other side
of the glass. Assessing,
examining him, as if he
were a scientific specimin,
subject of some mysterious
laboratory experiment.
What a fine example of
rage, you might think.
Or perhaps: Could that be
the rare white-rimmed lip
compression I’ve heard of?
I wonder... I wonder...
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Montrealais/WikimediaCommons
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