Not Her

Inherited from her,
the quick-to-explode gene.
Eyes down, fists clenched,
we stood silently passive
until the flame was spent.

Her sudden verbal lashings,
see-what-you-made-me-dos,
fury flung horiffic words.
Perhaps, in those moments,
I learned to control anger.

But she can fester within me.
Like termites gnawing
eroding the core of sanity.
Pause. Breathe.
Seek a good. A beautiful.

Take up pen and feel the script.
The flow. The ebbing.
I am not her.
Not that way.
I will it to be so.

2 thoughts on “Not Her

  1. gizzylaw March 24, 2018 / 10:10 am

    This morning, as I prepare to go to the streets, I will remember this. I will raise my voice not in anger but in love for my fellow humans. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • lillian March 24, 2018 / 10:12 am

      What a wonderful comment. Thank you!

      Like

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