An internal fire
Sometimes when released
Makes the morning paper
Elsewhere it just may not exist.
Or at least
We try to keep it hidden,
Although for some it is a ritual
Sadly, the evil is forced upon their soul
Such evidence,
So often directed
Their bodies become immune
Anticipating the next blow,
Sustaining all the hurt
That’s why they walk this earth,
To take this asshole’s constant rage,
Though they should not,
Ever.
No rage is deserving of another’s reception,
Only the bearer of a negative response
To the ills that smolder inside their
Illness.
For some, the rage has become so rampant,
There can be little excuse remaining,
In fact none at all, the receptor of another’s
Inability to control their own indignity,
Ought walk away unscathed,
Yet, in our society, it is often the bearer
Remains rewarded long before the sufferer
Heals.
Levels of rage can be a relative
Assortment like candies in a jar.
Picking the wrong one with only one opportunity
To slide your hand inside and choose,
Can create the happiness you seek
Or leave you in a fit of …
Rage.