Rocks in my Shoes
I think I am too angry to give up. Furious, red hot and battered by My own wellspring of rage that Doesn’t budge, that doesn’t break, That is the nice thing about Angry, it doesn’t ask to exist, It just takes up space, a balloon In my chest and rocks in my shoes That tells me to keep going. There’s Only more rocks on every other path, So keep going.
Maybe kids of volcanoes eventually Turn themselves into red hot lava themselves That melts away foundations. But I am trying Something else. After all the sour days Of asking “why me” I have given into That bucking bronco instinct to kick And screech and not be ridden by this World. I am the hornets nest being kicked And the refusal to stop stinging. I am the ocean eating red mornings And spitting out dark seas.
There’s only so much “why me.” Underneath that is the hardened steel, No, I won’t turn back, no, I am not here To be someone’s easy. Someone’s dream Made real. I am angry. I am broken bits at the teachers who never Noticed, and the adults that did nothing. I am angry my parents were children Raising children, and the systems that Left me battered on the doorstep of life And asking for a way out. I am angry at the failure of love.
Hornets, oceans, this horse inside That’s gone mad with running. I am angry. But that is better than dead bees, Broken mares, dried up lakes. I am Here because the storm is better Than barren loveliness of calm.
