How Anger Feels and a Poem

I stew.  My blood boils. I want to snap tree trunks in half. I want to take a sledgehammer and destroy doors and windows. I want to take expensive electronics and hurl them so they shatter into a million pieces.   A therapist once suggested that I throw ice cubes against a brick wall. I would love to tell her now, sweetie, that’s small time. It’s like a mist when I feel like a monsoon.

To all the rude, obnoxious, and impatient customers out there: !@#$%^&*!@#$% ^&*!@#$%^&!@#$% ^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*@#$%^&*!!!!!!!!!  What I want to say, isn’t even legal to think.  Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this.

When I get home from work, I can feel all of the stress tension in my neck, back and shoulders. I can feel my heart rate still elevated and my body tense. I’m still contemplating the horrible things I could do that would destroy my frustration. When I get to be this angry, I get irrational. I spend money. I eat junk food. I wish I had a car so I could drive fast.

Oh, how the exhilaration of a roaring engine from zero to sixty

thrills me.

Even a tamer zero

to forty-five.

There is something about just pulling away

from every thing I hate

at such a rate

that I enjoy.

Something about letting the dust settle,

after I am gone.

Taking a drive

not  recklessly

but aimlessly

calms my mind,

and frees me from that bond.

Not sure why I just broke out into a poem there. Wow. That was the first time after a long time, and after a major dry spell too. Lol. Goodnight.

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