Those Moments

I was angry all the time.
Especially at god,
of the universe
and the household.

I didn’t know why
and I didn’t know
what to do with it
and I didn’t know
how I was supposed
to see myself through
to the other side.

Because I was a little girl.

Because I never stood a chance.

Because feeling anything at all
was too much for other people
to handle and so I learned how
to keep it inside but sometimes

you have those moments.

The kind a human is supposed to.

Where something is so wonderful
or something is so terrible that
you simply can’t keep it inside.

I hate moments like that.
The kind most people
get to have without fault
every day of their lives.

I know how to feel joy.
I know how to feel pain.
I know what it’s like to
laugh with my whole body
and I know what it’s like
to cry with all of it, too.

But only in short bursts
of real emotion because
immediately upon feeling
anything I am overcome
by a tidal wave of guilt
because I did it again.

I acted out.

I let myself feel
something real
for just a few stolen
moments in my life.

The lessons you learn
while you’re young,
putting a name to
the things you start
to feel without really
understanding them –

everything has a place.
Every emotion has a
role to play in the
person you turn
out to be but

I learned about fear.
I learned about love,
yes, it’s true, but then
I learned about guilt.

And as a result I was


angry all the time.

And I have no equal
in knowing how to
hide it inside but
sometimes you have
those moments.
I try really hard. Like, constantly, if you want to know the truth. But I will always be 15 years old. Always always always. Terrified, and angry, and ill equipped to deal with the world I was presented with. And I know proclaiming the unfairness of it all makes me sound like the petulant child I’m accused of being, but the girl can’t help it.


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