hymnals

I want to scream. I want to shove you back into the moment. I want my hands to remember what they were denied.

Your laughing eyes. Your knowing eyes. Eyes that never looked away because they never had to.

I am furious in a way language refuses to carry. If I spoke it cleanly I would shatter. If I told the truth I would not survive the sound of it.

So I swallow. I have become excellent at swallowing. Anger thick as medicine with no sweetness promised. It burns going down and stays.

It sinks past the throat past the gut past every polite barrier meant to protect the self.

There is no diffusion. No gentle transport. I force it through my blood with will alone.

The body learns the violence when the world will not.

I turn the hands inward. I tear at what is mine. Cell by cell I punish myself for your freedom.

You walk away untouched. I carry the aftermath like a second skeleton.

I will not tell you. I will never give you the sound of my rage.

But know this. It exists. It lives. And it was never wrong.