The Passion Of Anger

 As I sit across the room,

I wonder,

the face upon his look tells me to run,

but no where would I find it safe,

even out of his presence,

his words threaten my life,

taking shape to my own self-endangerment,

I begin to tremble,

in my cleverly hidden bruised skin,

as he stands from his chair,

and makes his way towards me,

I shake violently,

when he pushes me against the wall,

his hand to my throat,

safety so far out of reach,

tears stream down my face,

not because I am scared,

but because I know when his grip is pulled taut,

it will not be the end,

and as the bruises on my wrists begin to take on a purple tone,

I think of lies,

to cover his marks,

so no one will know,

but in this silly game,

no more than a charade,

I have learned the true meaning of pain,

wanting so dearly,

just to find the end,

and being pushed so close to the edge,

dangling over my rescue,

yet held there to suffer.

Reviews

[Emmy McKenney]

wow tay i love this one! If that ever happened to you and you didnt tell someone I would be very upset with you!

[Jmartins]

Aww!!! I like this poem.. GREAT JOB!

[LilyWriter]

Wow. I like this poem. It is well written and brings a lot of emotion to the surface.

[Courtney Elizabeth]

wow. this amazing. i love it. ur an amazing writer tay. i love u!

[StoryTailor]

Ah... I like it. Yes I do. The only thing is... I don't know about the last line, it seems... off? I don't know, I think I have a think against the last line of all poems. Haha, I'm not a poet, so my opinion isn't much in the first place. AH *wipes eyes* well, the point is that I liked it. Good job writing this.