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with every tear, the sky sets on fire.
even the trees taste the brimstone.
pleading with you to stop is as futile as climbing to the tips of an inferno.
By anothershadowbox on 12.27.2016
I was filled with the rage. I wanted to kill, I wanted to love, I wanted to exude pride and prejudice. The rage filled me like no other had ever done before. I’m not sure why, but I just know that I wanted to do something about it and get the feelings out of me. Why do I hate this feeling, what have I done to deserve this one day. Crap, I’m not sure about it at all
By Jane URL on 12.27.2016
If I could bottle up my rage, I’d have a whole wine cellar full of the stuff. Then maybe, once in a while, I’d uncork one of those bottles and pour the wrath and anger into a glass. A few sips in, and I’d be ready to roll. Productive aggression is always good. I think I’ll start a vineyard and grow fury on the vine. Lord knows the people need to harvest it.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 12.27.2016
Sometimes, you just don’t see it coming. It comes in a blinding flash disguised as one bad night. “It was an accident,” you say, sewing yourself into your state of denial. What is rage, if not one blinding flash disguised as one bad night?
By k on 12.27.2016
i unfortunately have a lot of rage and a very short temper which gets in my thinking a lot. I wish i could get rid of it but i’m not sure how to do that. I always get in trouble with my mom because of it and with other people like my friends and family.
By Shay Caskey on 12.27.2016
My throat closed and my vision blurred. I could feel my hands shake and my heart beat tighten.
By bannedbookreader on 12.27.2016
the rage in the embankment in endeavours
is quite clever
when the titan-titanium drive
rages up to the front of the water well
commensurate a wide-plated dish with asparagus
and extra clips of grandiloquent potatos
not here to reside in saggy city ohio
metropolitian wide-spread entrepreneur
was my calling
the whom opened for me
to make change
one heart at time
one dollar in rhyme
pass me the liqiour next weekend
for now, I’m focused,
pass me the thyme
By Milad URL on 12.27.2016
exploding like a volcano
ripping through my soul
wherever i go
not against any machine
my internal foe
By poetwarrior on 12.27.2016
If you want to know what rage is, find a toddler and give her a live bird. Imagine she’s maybe 2 or 3 years old–old enough to understand when something is alive, but not exactly why or under what conditions something dies. Put the bird into her hand, carefully so that it can’t fly away. She will grasp it too tightly. The bird will sound muffled shrieks like a dog chew toy squeezed of all its air, and for the same reasons. The bird will be her best friend for the hour or so that she waddles around and shakes its corpse. Eventually it will dawn on her toddler mind that the bird is no longer struggling its weak struggle under her chubby fingers. When she puts it on the grass, it will not move. She will know that it is dead but she will not know why or how to reverse the process. Tell her that she killed it because she squeezed it too tightly. Make sure she knows why it died and that she was the murderer. Now imagine the opposite of that.
By mattlock URL on 12.27.2016
Rage. Unfortunately, I am filled with it every time I get in my car. Traveling down busy highways, or, for that matter, any road with any semblance of traffic, fills me with rage. “Get the fuck out of the left lane!” “Can’t you see me behind you?” Why am I filled with rage? Aren’t there more important things?
By abbie on 12.27.2016
She’s not a hateful person. Hate and anger, it’s too exhausting for her anymore. She takes the rage she does occasionally feel and she stuffs it down, smothers it like an unwanted child. Fixes her makeup. Assumes a smile. Closes her eyes.
By Marissa on 12.28.2016
RAGE IT BABY! RAGE IT!
And all the bad things that happen
JUST RAGE IT!
Don’t be sad girl!
JUST RAGE IT!
By Sameeka on 12.28.2016
There is no rage in peace and awareness orf your presence on this Earth. There is no anger or jealousy or hate. there is only love. Love of you and all that is around you because all is beautiful in its own. If you know you are beautiful, you can see it all and love it and yourself.
By trkstr67 on 12.28.2016
The traffic was going too slowly and Elmo really had to get to his next appointment. It wasn’t that he was already late, even after starting out two hours early, but in his rush to leave the house, he forgot to stop at the toilet first. He felt uncomfortable and stressed, and when the car in front of him sped up then stopped, making him crash into it trunk, he lost it. He got out of his car, consumed with rage, and looked around for something to smash that car with. He pulled out the handle of the jack and approached the car in front of him.
the woman driving the car was slumped against the wheel, sobbing. Elmo felt embarrassed and dropped the jack handle. “Road rage,” he thought. “I never thought it would happen to me.” He knocked on the window lightly. “Are you all right?”
By chanpheng URL on 12.28.2016
Sometimes felt. Few times driven by it.
By Betzi on 12.28.2016
Rising anger growing everywhere.
By Diana on 12.28.2016
I looked up at him, my face red in anger- no, stronger. Rage.
I couldn’t believe how I ever trusted him- invested feelings into him.
He smirked at me, flipping his hair out of his eyes. His hazel eyes taunted me, their colors dancing around teasingly.
By Blue on 12.28.2016
Anger. Overwhelming, consuming, bitterness. She didn’t have the right words, the right timing, the knowledge to navigate. And the rage overtook her, consumed her until she was numb.
By Katy on 12.28.2016
feeling i get and instantly swallow.
rage is not something i’m allowed to have.
it’s only something people can have at me.
it’s got “age” in it.
it rhymes with “sage”
maybe sage is the next stage after rage.
rage against the machine.
By d rhodes on 12.28.2016
Ringing that’s all I could hear the night my world fell apart. A high-pitched, monotone whine drowning out the cacophony that preceded the fall. The dog barking protectively at my side, the roar of the crowd at Superbowl blaring though the surround sound speakers; it was all gone. Had I hit my head? My eyes stung and the world seemed to move in slow motion as blobs of light and shadow swirled together in my field of vision. I was grateful for the deafness. It shielded me from the profanities and insults that punctuated his aggression.
Hearing and sight no longer reliable, I gingerly reached out to my other senses and smelled the yeasty fermentation of cheap beer, stale cigarettes and burning wood. A metallic taste blanketed my tongue and my face felt cold and wet. I wiped the unknown irritant from my eyes with my shirt and focused on the fireplace, flames now more distinguishable. Moving my hand to the floor and flattening my hands to the carpet beneath me, I caught a whiff of the same cheap beer now clinging to my sleeve. In a push-up-like position, I raised my torso off of the floor and my right arm buckled beneath me shooting pain through my arm like a jolt of electricity. Gasping in pain I shifted the entirety of my weight to the left, providing some relief as I completed the motion. Now seated, I tepidly examined the extent of my injuries and attempted to stand. It wasn’t only my right arm, now unconsciously and protectively cradled in my left, but the whole of the right side of my body: face, shoulder, buttocks, knee,ankle; ached from the fall leaving me off balance and disoriented. I narrowed my eyes and the dark, thick figure of my attacker came into focus.
The flight instinct, like the ringing in my ears evaporated overtaken by the hot waves of anger now surging through my shaking limbs, numbing the pain and restoring my equilibrium. Only its counterpart remained. The imperative to fight now thudded against my chest in time with my rapidly increasing heart rate. Transforming disbelief into certainty; fear into rage.
By Ginger on 12.28.2016
When you begin to just get angry, and you are in a total fit where you can’t stop screaming and being made. You are just in a moment where calmness doesn’t exist.
By Hannah URL on 12.28.2016
By Sharon URL on 12.28.2016
rage — this is what happens when you stuff your feelings, when you do not say what is in your heart, when you do not stand up for what you believe, when you feel small and unsafe and you realize that those around you who should protect you do not. it becomes rage when the people you love misunderstand what love really is
the rage inside the chimney within houses
sage, naturalness in the middle of nowhere
compliant tree branches stem off to into my palm
where I read where ill go next
dependent upon my mom’s north star
anywhere but a bar
is a place that hoaxes a dupe
I hate feeling loopy because life is
never about getting happy droopy
but happy escatic,
electric, to where no type of gold will nudge you hectic.
every joy differs, every nose has a different whiffer,
some smell the pungent asparagus urine steaming out into the urinal
others cant detect it
be mindful of those around you
and low and behold, how much youll receive the praise we seek
care-for-care prolific talk
By Milad URL on 12.28.2016
I thought really hard about the incident. I mean REALLY reflected on it…Was it worth it to experience that much rage? That much seething hatred towards them?
By Cooper on 12.28.2016
Such a silly emotion
Such a painful path
Cutting through other’s lives like a tornado
Fueled by useless worry and fear
By smattc URL on 12.28.2016
All the rage he held for her melted away with a single glance. She was miserable, that much was obvious. Her threadbare jacket was covered in filth and her mud streaked face was turned towards the scant warmth of the industrial lights.
By Gaia Serene on 12.28.2016
a fury insult. Throwing doors shut. Forcing screaming into pillows. Snapping vocal chords doing so. Wishing the floors would sink with every stomp up the stairs. The thrill comes through my body and releases in a crying river.
By maria eugenia on 12.28.2016
Nicholas was the kind of person who substituted rage for reason, and for everything else as well. If you wished him a good morning, he informed you that it was neither good nor (any more) morning, and your effrontery was duly noted. His face was usually red, and his eyes bulged.
By Delia on 12.28.2016
i shake in rage thinking about how fucked up it is that i’m still alive
how if i told them how i felt they’d just say “don’t be ridiculous, we love you”
would you love me if i told you i don’t believe in god?
would you love me if i told you i want to fuck girls?
you don’t love me. you love who you want me to be.
By stranger on 12.28.2016
I am rage, the last expedient to your cruelty. Where my voice failed, my force will be a hurricane to carry the fragments of dead peace to your home, to your wife, to your children. And as you wallow in my destruction, i’ll have my destruction delight in your peace.
By edrianredentor on 12.28.2016
Rage is scary. I do not like my self or others to be out of control. This is why I don’t drink or take drugs. Rage is out of control behavior.
By Jodie Horgan on 12.28.2016
Wow. Rage is tough. Its a difficult place to be. You cannot reason with rage. Its so encompassing that everything else disappears and all you have is that feeling. Then – you make the stab and when it leaves, you’re left with the hole.
By ashley4ashley on 12.28.2016
He was chewing. Chewing, chewing, all the chewing and smacking. The sound of the swallow. The gulping.The salad, the chips. With every crunch her anger rose until she reached the point of rage. “Do you have to eat like that?” she blurted. He looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “Its just so disgusting.” Eating dinner together at the table was a terrible idea. After all the complaining she did, they were finally eating at the table and all she could think about was turning on the TV to mask the sounds that made her feel disgust towards her husband.
He just stared at her.
“What?” she said. “Misophonia is a real thing.”
A storm, brewing with slow might and destructing with vicious convict. It sits in quicksand at the base of their bellies, a heavy weight of dread, meteoric to swallow up any other sensation that dares to dwell nearby. Yet they let it fester, allow it to torment from the inside out until, they too, are consumed by the tsunami that holds them just below the surface, become wedged into the fault lines of the earthquake where their bones obliterate.
By Annika on 12.28.2016
ha. as elusive as the the imaginary cookie floating in the center of the haze that seems to linger just out of focus. The thin-u-lo-nimbus; that rage hisses a white static in front of your minds eye. Blinding real memories from forming, like hot clay, the rage convection craps all over your life. Born of jealousy. Conceived from love. Where have you been looking, even?
By stillinbed on 12.28.2016
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.