on others' angry words.

I read these poems, words by others
Loud and proud about their anger
their frustration, and all their bothers
Decorating the page with red gems
that flare and spark and rage.

And I think, they are in pain
and need to beat against the drum
of the world, making noise like a storm
and letting their lips twist with anger, plump
with emotions too loud to be held
in their tiny little chest.

but for me, i write about anger softly,
like a wave lapping at the shore.
pain as a dull ache, oscitant and yawning.
stretching out, probing, creating small scars
growing on my skin like a sun dawning.
for me, I let it grow through me
like a disease languidly making its way
from my mouth down to my tiny little heart.