Anger: Scrape it off

There is something in me these days that is bringing forth some real examination of my emotions I am starting to feel where frustration and anger lives in my body.

The chest tightens.  For a Black man who loves pork and is over 40, this alone will make you regret not spending the extra 50 bucks to get that will done with the insurance man.

The head roars,  like a static-filled TV channel. I can even feel the stark snowing whiteness piercing my eyes and thudding relentlessly against the back of my skull.

My neck disappears, consumed by the tensing muscles in my shoulders and back, as they fill with the rage

Fortunately, this age of stillness we are in has allowed me to find more blissful days than not, which means that I don’t take these signs of my anger as normalcy.

Because it isn’t normal to be angry.  Anger is the result of action deferred.  It comes from a resolution to be unheard, unseen, or misunderstood.  We get angry because we can’t (or probably just don’t) get shit off of our chests and say what we mean until people know what we mean.

Which, now that I think about it, explains the tightness there.  Ha.

I’m learning not to live that way.  I’m too special to be covered in shit.

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