The Anger That Understands

She said it slow, like a half-heard warning—

"Your anger’s just sadness in a noisy coat."

The room held its breath, the plaster cracked

behind her chair, the only witness.

I wanted to shatter the quiet,

to shout at her the lie I told myself,

that I was just mad, not broken, not lost.

Instead, the crack deepened, thin and cold.

Anger is loud and clumsy,

a messy shield worn over wounds

that ache beneath its false armor.

I felt the truth hammer, blunt and cruel—

a fist I wanted to dodge but couldn’t.

And it stung, because it was right,

all the damn way to the bone.