a man's rage
is a clenched fist,
an empty bottle thrown against the wall,
another sleepless night
where he screams at the ceiling
like the ceiling could answer back.
a man's rage is simple:
it roars, it hits, it sinks.
then it says sorry.
or not.
sometimes not even that.
a woman's rage
is different.
more elegant,
more cruel.
it's a cold word
at the perfect time,
a look that cuts
like a blade without lifting a hand.
he breaks chairs.
she breaks you from the inside.
he spills over.
she calculates.
they both burn,
but one burns out
and the other burns in.
and in the middle of it all
are the ruins:
slammed doors,
children afraid,
silences that hurt more than screams,
scars that don’t bleed
but never leave.
rage has no gender,
but it has form.
and we all carry a beast
waiting in the corner of the soul.
the difference is how we let it loose.
About the Creator
Javier
My name is Javier, and I find inspiration in every story people share with me. From their words, poems and tales are born, written with passion,
Comments (1)
I especially loved those last three lines!