Anger blinds us—
a sudden flash,
a hand over the eyes.
It makes us impulsive,
reckless,
hungry for a justice
that never tastes the way we think it will.
It fills me with old grievances,
warps the clean lines of reality,
whispers that revenge
is a kind of freedom.
But what sense is there
in kicking back at a mule,
in biting a dog
just because it hurt us first?
And yet—
don’t we do exactly that?
Hurt for hurt,
heat for heat,
as if burning ourselves
could cool the flame.
Life is already difficult,
the path already thorned.
We need every bit of clarity
we can carry.
We cannot afford to be foolish.
We cannot,
in our anger,
become the ones
who destroy ourselves.