How to Bury Anger Without a Funeral

Start by holding it.

Not like a newborn—

more like a grenade

you forgot how to throw.

Keep the pin in your teeth

just in case

you finally get brave enough

to spit.

Now—

gather the things you didn’t say.

The swallowed screams.

The apologies you gave

just to keep the peace

that never kept you.

Build a box out of that.

Line it with sarcasm.

Nail it shut

with every “I’m fine”

you ever weaponized

against yourself.

Dig a hole somewhere inconvenient.

Like your gut.

Like behind your ribs.

Like the part of your throat

that tightens

every time you hear “calm down.”

Fold your rage

into something more socially acceptable.

Call it productivity.

Call it “just tired.”

Call it whatever makes them

stop asking questions.

You’ll want to scream.

Instead, alphabetize your apologies.

Say “sorry”

until your tongue becomes

a white flag

you never agreed to wave.

Put the box in the hole.

Step back.

Don’t cry.

Crying gives it air.

And this emotion—

this one—

grows teeth

when fed oxygen.

When the ground starts cracking

under your composure,

plant flowers in the fissures.

Smile.

Tell people

you’re just really into wild gardens lately.

When someone finally asks

what’s blooming inside you,

lie.

Say:

“healing.”

Say:

“growth.”

Say:

anything but

“this is a graveyard

disguised as grace.”

Then—

go home.

Lock the door.

Peel your own hands off your shoulders.

Sit with the shaking.

Do not open the box.

Just

know it’s there.

Know you built it.

Know you buried it.

Know that sometimes,

survival looks like

suffocating what would’ve burned the whole house down.