Pet peeve, anger.

Anger that gets up

their throat and off

it goes, cross eyed,

red faced, pompous.

Hot steam shooting out –

shouting and pouting

to show control

for they need to establish

their parol, their dominance.

No solution, just shout,

toes curled, eyes crossed,

spit coming out with each word.

Unhinged they stand,

what a loveless life

they must truly live

to be so angry and on edge

all the time.

If anger could be

crossroads – white lines, a guide

to limitless insanity,

disguised as power –

I would prefer to walk outside.

Outside it’s border for

there’s more to achieve

by remaining calm

than using my energy

on shouting, diseased anergy.


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