Rage

I have a monster inside called rage. It rattles against my rib cage, flips my stomach, and steals my sleep.

My brain feeds it, drips the injustices big and small from poorly placed bin bags, to climate, to cladding. And it must be kept hidden lest anyone understand the truth behind the kind smile.

And it grows larger.

The monster escapes, ripping through the teeth and growing great wings, soaring past the tuts, the angry email, the sarcastic eye roll, the high pitched indignation. It blasts a great fire of vitriol and venom until finally it is spent. It withers, wilts, and withdraws leaving a trail of soot and lingering clouds of ash.

And leaves a shame. Not just that the anger escaped its meticulously designed cage but that it only ever leaves for one reason. Oh it rumbles at famine, at global catastrophes, at greed and corruption but it stays put. No, this monster will only ever reach out and rip of the mask of civility when the injustice directly impacts me.

Then, a deflated husk, the beast returns to sleep in the dark, nestled under that slowly rising rib cage of the one person it really cares about. Dormant, not dead.