red

Do I cry over spilt milk or smash the glass to give me something to really rage about?

taught to get over it before how to get through it; I am nothing but a ticking time bomb. How do I learn to be better when I've never been taught to feel better?

anger boils over into shame,

This isn't how I am suppose to be, this isn't how it's suppose to be. I should be assertive yet I am aggressive. Screaming right over my own voice, my own words; left in a puddle of silence and guilt.

I am twisted triple A life insurance

anxious,

angry,

apprehensive.

the calm before the storm, I quake in my own skin while emotions take over; I am reactive not expressive.

I am the stick in the mud, unable to go with the wind I fall to the floor.

Unsure how to release tension, waiting to burst. . . again, again, and again. hoping this time I can cry about it rather than rage about it.