My Anger is Blind
How do you define anger in colours,
For my anger is blind?
My anger is a prison for my tears,
So it is a cocoon of insensitivity
That chooses to undermine my fears,
My hurt.
My anger is blind.
It was pruned to be so
With incessant jabs to my inner self.
I was picked on, bullied
And crying was a sure way to invite more fingers to myself.
So I learnt to lock my lips such that not a sigh escapes.
I fixed my eyes on a wall ahead,
Unblinkingly, so that the dozen tears swimming in my eyes did not catch light.
And even then I failed.
I was called a wimp,
A cry baby,
A pussy.
And all these became words I began to loathe.
So I switched to anger,
Angry exhibition of my inner self!
I screamed so that no one picks up the tremor in my voice.
I screamed and shouted,
And my wide eyes became an expression of fury and disrespect.
At least I was no longer a wimp,
A cry baby,
A pussy.
Till this day I cannot decide, whether being disrespectful, rude and temperate are any better words.
My anger is blind.
Its blind to my inner hurt.
It has to be.
For once I become aware of my distress,
The dam would break
And it would be all a haze then.
It’d be anguished whispers,
And red, swollen eyes.
It’d be a tear stained face,
And a broken heart.
My anger needs to be blind.
My anger is like hot bubbling lava,
But it cools down like wax,
Gets scourged clean,
Never leaving behind any scabs,
Just a smooth surface.
My anger is a shield to protect my identity.
It is a bid to protect my self.
I remember when we vacated our old house,
And not a trace of us was left behind.
Those houses were lived in
But they never told our tale.
Never announced the presence of a book worm,
Or an aspiring singer,
Or a passionate cricketer.
My anger is little attempts made to preserve myself.
It is a weapon I wield to protect my bands that made me into the bandana girl.
It is one I draw to protect the many books that pave my way.
It is what I turn to in times of war, the one I fight everyday
To protect my identity from getting lost.
My anger is blind, irrational
And it is what protects me.
My anger is a blind shield.
My anger is blind.
For my anger is blind?
My anger is a prison for my tears,
So it is a cocoon of insensitivity
That chooses to undermine my fears,
My hurt.
My anger is blind.
It was pruned to be so
With incessant jabs to my inner self.
I was picked on, bullied
And crying was a sure way to invite more fingers to myself.
So I learnt to lock my lips such that not a sigh escapes.
I fixed my eyes on a wall ahead,
Unblinkingly, so that the dozen tears swimming in my eyes did not catch light.
And even then I failed.
I was called a wimp,
A cry baby,
A pussy.
And all these became words I began to loathe.
So I switched to anger,
Angry exhibition of my inner self!
I screamed so that no one picks up the tremor in my voice.
I screamed and shouted,
And my wide eyes became an expression of fury and disrespect.
At least I was no longer a wimp,
A cry baby,
A pussy.
Till this day I cannot decide, whether being disrespectful, rude and temperate are any better words.
My anger is blind.
Its blind to my inner hurt.
It has to be.
For once I become aware of my distress,
The dam would break
And it would be all a haze then.
It’d be anguished whispers,
And red, swollen eyes.
It’d be a tear stained face,
And a broken heart.
My anger needs to be blind.
My anger is like hot bubbling lava,
But it cools down like wax,
Gets scourged clean,
Never leaving behind any scabs,
Just a smooth surface.
My anger is a shield to protect my identity.
It is a bid to protect my self.
I remember when we vacated our old house,
And not a trace of us was left behind.
Those houses were lived in
But they never told our tale.
Never announced the presence of a book worm,
Or an aspiring singer,
Or a passionate cricketer.
My anger is little attempts made to preserve myself.
It is a weapon I wield to protect my bands that made me into the bandana girl.
It is one I draw to protect the many books that pave my way.
It is what I turn to in times of war, the one I fight everyday
To protect my identity from getting lost.
My anger is blind, irrational
And it is what protects me.
My anger is a blind shield.
My anger is blind.
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