Reflections

Rage

I can feel the rage inside me. It feels like I’m vibrating from deep inside—from a place within me that wants to make itself known. I can’t remember myself before it. I wish it away like an uninvited guest. I didn’t ask for it to be here, but it addresses me by my name like it knows me. No, it addresses me in the way I was called before my mother even me. It made a home for itself within my soul well before I had a name for it. It knows me, it’s been watching me, attached to me like my shadow. Lying in wait for its opportune moment.

Oh what joy my rage must feel to watch me struggle with the world of today.

Its screams draw me in. I’m jealous how loud they can be. I want to be that loud. I want to be that free to roar from a place deep within my gut. It always seems to be able to hear me when everyone turns away, uncomfortable by the power of my voice.

I want the rage to hold me to wrap me in its freeing embrace and let me shout until I can sleep. I miss sleep. I miss the unencumbered sleep of pure relief. I miss feeling hopeful. I miss not feeling the weight of cynicism on my shoulders. I miss believing in the world. I miss not being disappointed. I miss people worthy of my hope.

Oh what joy my rage must feel to watch me struggle with the world of today.

I want my rage to leave me. To be flooded by the joy of a life without it. I dream of the day when that will once again be possible. Will it be perfect? Or merely better than this? If I’m being completely honest, I wonder whether I want the rage to go away, or to go back to a time when the rage was easier to ignore.

My rage has never lied to me, and I know it’s here for a reason. It vibrates in my bones because it wants to make me so uncomfortable that I have to act. It screams to teach where to find my own voice. It wants me to use it in those times when hope escapes my grasp. Until hope comes back to me. Until the feelings of helplessness climb off my back. Rage is here for me when there is nothing else left. It uses my frustrated tears like jet fuel and smokes the creeping apathy out of my heart. It gives me a second wind when I’ve been fighting for far too long. It is the last gasp. Rage is like fire -if nothing else, it keeps things going.

Oh how scared the world of today must feel to know that rage is on my side.

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